"I have heard him say it often. What could Jesus care for the praise of
one whose object in life was the praise of men!"

Walter had not lived so as to destroy the reverence of his childhood. He
believed himself to have high ideals. He felt that a man must be
upright, or lose his life. So strongly did he feel it, that he imagined
himself therefore upright, incapable of a dishonest or mean thing. He
had never done, never could, he thought, do anything unfair. But to what
Molly said, he had no answer. What he half thought in his silence, was
something like this: that Jesus Christ was not the type of manhood, but
a man by himself, who came to do a certain work; that it was both absurd
and irreverent to talk as if other men had to do as He did, to think and
feel like Him; that He was so high above the world He could not care for
its fame, while to mere man its praises must be dear. Nor did Walter
make any right distinction between the approbation of understanding men,
who know the thing they praise, and the empty voice of the unwise many.

In a word, Walter thought, without knowing he did, that Jesus Christ was
not a man.

"I think, Molly," he said, "we had better avoid the danger of
irreverence."

For the sake of his poor reverence he would frustrate the mission of the
Son of God; by its wretched mockery justify himself in refusing the
judgment of Jesus!

"I know you think kindly of me, Molly," he went on, "and I should be
sorry to have you misunderstand me; but surely a man should not require