"Perhaps he thinks the common herd worth saving too," suggested Miss
Amy, a beautiful girl of nineteen, with dark hair and eyes.

"What do you know about it?" replied the father. "You're getting your
head full of those silly Young People's Society notions, and your
friends will drop you if you don't pay more attention to your social
duties. The common classes are all right of course, but they can't
expect to associate with us. Cameron has his mission schools; why isn't
that enough? And he makes three times as many calls on South Broadway
and over by the Shops, as he does on our street."

"Perhaps he thinks, 'they that are whole have no need of a physician,'"
again suggested the young lady.

"Amy," said Mrs. Goodrich, "how often have I told you that it's not
the thing to be always repeating the Bible. No one does it now. Why
will you make yourself so common?"

"You agree with Cameron perfectly, mother," put in Frank, the only
son; "he said this morning that no one used their Bibles now-a-days."

"It's not necessary to be always throwing your religion at people's
heads," answered the father, "and as for Cameron's new-fangled notion
about the church being more helpful to those who need help, he'll find
out that it won't work. We are the ones who pay his salary, and if he
can't preach the things we want to hear, he'll find himself going
hungry, or forced to dig along with those he is so worried about. I
don't find anything in the Bible that tells me to associate with every
low-down person in the city, and I guess I'm as good a Christian as
anyone in the church."