"Too good. I like a boy to be human at twenty-three. He doesn't know
the wickedness of the world."

"Thank God," said Dr. Lavendar.

"Dominie, ignorance ain't virtue."

"No; but it's a fair substitute. I wouldn't want one of my boys to be
able to pass an examination on wrong-doing."

"But you want him to recognize it when he sees it, don't you?"

"If he knows goodness, you can trust him to recognize the other thing.
Teach 'em goodness. Badness will label itself,"

"Doesn't follow," Benjamin Wright said. "But you're a parson; parsons
know about as much as females--good females. Look here! I have reasons
for saying that the boy ought to get out of Old Chester. I want your
assistance."

"Get out of Old Chester!--to see how wicked the world is?"

Mr. Wright shook his head. "No; he could see that here--only the puppy
hasn't got his eyes open yet. A little knocking about the world, such
as any boy ought to have, will open 'em. Living in Old Chester is
narrowing; very narrowing. Besides, he's got--well, he's got some
truck he's written. It isn't entirely bad, Lavendar, and he might as
well try to get it published, or, maybe, produced in some theatre. So
let him go and hunt up a publisher or a manager. Now, very likely,