CHAPTER V.
"IS THE HAND OF THE LORD WAXED SHORT ?" A dismayed old man, eagerly trying to feel incredulous, awaited the home-coming of his grandsons at the beginning of that vacation.
Was the hand of the Lord waxed short, that so utter a blasphemer--unless, indeed, he were possessed of a devil--could walk in the eye of Jehovah, and no breach be made upon him?
Even was the world itself so lax in these days that one speaking thus could go free?
If so, then how could God longer refrain from drowning the world again?
The human baseness of the blaspheming one and the divine toleration that permitted it were alike incredible.
A score of times the old man nerved himself to laugh away his fears.

It could not be.

The young mind was still disordered.
On the night of the home-coming he greeted the youth quite as if all were serene within him, determined to be in no haste and to approach the thing lightly on the morrow--in the fond hope that a mere breath of authority might blow it away.
And when, the next morning, they both drifted to the study, the old man called up the smile that made his wrinkles sunny, and said in light tones, above the beating of an anxious heart: "So it's your theory, boy, that we must all be taken down with typhoid before we can be really wise in matters of faith ?" But the youth answered, quite earnestly: "Yes, sir; I really believe nothing less than that would clear most minds--especially old ones.

You see, the brain is a muscle and thought is its physical exercise.

It learns certain thoughts--to go through certain exercises.