Winner Stories

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There are few sadder things in the world than to see really good
and wellintentioned men fighting for what they consider the
religious cause with the devil's weapons. Mr. FaneSmith would
have been dismayed if any one could have shown him that all his
life he had been struggling to suppress unbelief by what was
infinitely worse than sincere unbelief denunciation often untrue,
always unjust, invariably uncharitable. He would have been almost
brokenhearted could he ever have known that his hard intolerance,
his narrowness, his domineering injustice had not deterred one soul
from adopting the views he abhorred, but had, on the contrary, done
a great deal to drive into atheism those who were wavering. And
this evening, even while lamenting that he had not been able to
train up his niece exactly in the opinions he himself held, he was
all the time trying her faith more severely than a whole regiment
of atheists could have tried it.
The time passed heavily enough. When two people in the room are
unhappy and uncomfortable, a sense of unrest generally falls upon
the other occupants. Rose yawned, talked fitfully about the
gayeties of the coming week, worked half a leaf on an antimacassar,
and sang three or four silly little coquettish songs which somehow
jarred on every one.
Mrs. FaneSmith, feeling anxious and harassed, afraid alike of
vexing her husband and offending her niece, talked kindly and
laboriously. Erica turned the heel of her sock and responded as
well as she could, her sensitiveness recoiling almost as much from
the labored and therefore oppressive kindness, as from the
irritating and narrow censure which Mr. FaneSmith dealt out to the
world.
Family prayers followed. It was the first time she had ever been
present at such a household gathering, and the idea seemed to her
a very beautiful one. But the function proved so formal and
lifeless that it chilled her more than anything. Yet her relations
were so very kind to her personally that she blamed herself for
feeling disappointed, and struggled hard to pierce through the
outer shell, which she knew only concealed their real goodness.
She knew, too, that she had herself to blame in part; her
oversensitiveness, her quick temper, her want of deep insight had
all had their share in making that evening such a blank failure.
Mrs. FaneSmith went with her into her bedroom to see that she had
all she wanted. Though the September evening was mild, a fire
blazed in the grate, much to Erica's astonishment. Not on the most
freezing of winter nights had she ever enjoyed such a luxury. Her
aunt explained that the room looked north, and, besides, she
thought a fire was cheerful and homelike.
You are very kind, said Erica, warmly; but you know I mustn't

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