the stories. Stories were scarce with me in those days; and, when I had
exhausted my little stock, rather than read nothing I read my
sermon--read it so often that I think I can remember every word of it
now. 'My dear little boy, the Christian religion, as Christ taught it,
has long ceased to be the religion of the Christian world. A selfish
and cruel Pretence is set up in its place. Your own father is one
example of the truth of this saying of mine. He has fulfilled the first
and foremost duty of a true Christian--the duty of forgiving an injury.
For this, he stands disgraced in the estimation of all his friends:
they have renounced and abandoned him. He forgives them, and seeks
peace and good company in the New World, among Christians like himself.
You will not repent leaving home with him; you will be one of a loving
family, and, when you are old enough, you will be free to decide for
yourself what your future life shall be.' That was all I knew about the
Socialists, when we reached Tadmor after our long journey."

Mr. Hethcote's prejudices made their appearance again. "A barren sort
of place," he said, "judging by the name."

"Barren? What can you be thinking of? A prettier place I never saw, and
never expect to see again. A clear winding river, running into a little
blue lake. A broad hill-side, all laid out in flower-gardens, and
shaded by splendid trees. On the top of the hill, the buildings of the
Community, some of brick and some of wood, so covered with creepers and
so encircled with verandahs that I can't tell you to this day what
style of architecture they were built in. More trees behind the
houses--and, on the other side of the hill, cornfields, nothing but
cornfields rolling away and away in great yellow plains, till they
reached the golden sky and the setting sun, and were seen no more. That
was our first view of Tadmor, when the stage-coach dropped us at the