"So you ought. A baby is worth a dozen saints. And my baby's
worth the whole of Paradise, and as far as I can see he lives in
Hell."

Lucy again felt that this did not do.

"In Hell," he repeated. "He's unhappy."

"Oh, dear!" said Lucy.

"How can he be unhappy when he is strong and alive? What more is
one to give him? And think how he has been brought up--free from
all the superstition and ignorance that lead men to hate one
another in the name of God. With such an education as that, I
thought he was bound to grow up happy."

She was no theologian, but she felt that here was a very foolish
old man, as well as a very irreligious one. She also felt that
her mother might not like her talking to that kind of person, and
that Charlotte would object most strongly.

"What are we to do with him?" he asked. "He comes out for his
holiday to Italy, and behaves--like that; like the little child
who ought to have been playing, and who hurt himself upon the
tombstone. Eh? What did you say?"

Lucy had made no suggestion. Suddenly he said:

"Now don't be stupid over this. I don't require you to fall in