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drink for tomorrow we die, criticized his food almost as severely
as he criticized human beings. The mulligatawny was not to his
taste. The curry was too not. He was sure the jelly was made with
that detestable stuff gelatine; he wished his wife would forbid the
cook to use it if she had seen old horses being led into a gelatine
manufactory as he had seen, she would be more particular.
Interspersed between these compliments was conversation which
irritated Erica even more. It was chiefly about the sayings and
doings of people whom she did not know, and the doings of some
clergyman in a neighboring town seemed to receive severe censure,
for Mr. FaneSmith stigmatized him as A most dangerous man, a
Pelagian in disguise. However, he seemed to be fond of labeling
people with the names of old heresies, for, presently, when Rose
said something about Mr. Farrant, her father replied
contemptuously:
Every one knows, my dear, that Mr. Farrant holds unorthodox views.
Why, a few years ago he was an atheist, and now he's a mere
Photinian.
As no one but Mr. FaneSmith had the faintest idea what a
Photinian meant, the accusation could neither be understood nor
refuted. Mrs. FaneSmith looked very uncomfortable, fearing that
her niece might feel hurt at the tone in which He was an atheist,
had been spoken; and indeed Erica's color did rise.
Is that Mr. Farrant the member? she asked.
Yes, replied her aunt, apprehensively. Do you know him?
Not personally, but I shall always honor him for the splendid
speech he made last year on religious toleration, said Erica.
Mr. FaneSmith raised his eyebrows for the same speech had made him
most indignant. However, he began to realize that, before Erica
could become a patient recipient of his opinions, like his wife and
daughter, he must root out the false ideas which evidently still
clung to her.
Mr. Farrant is no doubt a reformed character now, he admitted.
But he is far from orthodox; far from orthodox! At one time I am
told that he was one of the wildest young fellows in the
neighborhood, no decent person would speak to him, and though no
doubt he means well, yet I could never have confidence in such a
man.
I have heard a good deal about him from my friends the Osmonds,
said Erica, stimulated as usual to side with the abused. Mr.
Osmond thinks him the finest character he ever knew.
Is that the clergyman you told me of? interposed Mrs. FaneSmith,
anxious to turn the conversation.
But her husband threw in a question, too.
What, Charles Osmond, do you mean the author of 'Essays on Modern
Christianity?
Yes, replied Erica.
I don't know that he is much more orthodox than Mr. Farrant, said

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