The grandfather especially seems to have been a "gentle sceptic," an agnostic in the germ, affirming nothing beyond the natural, probably because all substantial ground for supernatural affirmations seemed to him to be cut away by the fundamental training imparted to him.

He was a kindly, virtuous, warm-hearted man, with a life of his own which made him incurious and thoughtful, and singularly devoid of prejudices.

When his daughter Caroline elected to desert the Reformed Dutch Church in which the family had a pew, and to attach herself to another sect, he had only a jocular word of surprise to say concerning her odd fancy for "those noisy Methodists." He had a true German fondness for old ways and settled customs, and to the end of his days spoke only his own vernacular.
"Why don't you talk English ?" somebody once asked him toward the close of his life.
"I don't know how," he answered.

"I never had time to learn." "Why, how long have you been here ?" "About forty years." "Forty years! And isn't that time enough to learn English in ?" "What can one learn in forty years ?" said the old man, with an unanswerable twinkle.
Between him and the youngest of his Hecker grandchildren there existed a singular sympathy and affection.

The two were very much together, and the little fellow was allowed to potter about the workshop and encouraged to study the ins and outs of all that went on there, as well as entertained with kindly talk that may at first have been a trifle above his years.