Smiles Consecration

If, half an hour previous, Donald had been told that, during the first
evening of his long anticipated visit to his forest of enchantment, he
was to play the part of patient in a spiritual clinic, conducted by a
wandering backwood preacher for the instruction of a seventeen-year-old
mountain girl--as well as for his own enlightenment--he would have
scoffed at the idea; yet, oddly enough, he felt no sense of displeasure
or antagonism.

In the company of this unaffected man of God, the simple old mountaineer
and the equally simple girl only, vanished all the self-conscious
reserve and reticence which usually attacks the modern city dweller when
called upon to speak of things spiritual and eternal, and which had so
often bound Donald's tongue, even when his inner being cried aloud for
expression.

"I hardly blame you for your attitude of mind, doctor," began Mr.
Talmadge. "Although it is certain that the knowledge of God starts from
Himself a ray of pure white light, the dogmas, creeds and
theologies--invented by many men of many minds--have raised between it
and our spiritual eyes a glass clouded with earthly murkiness, through
which we now see darkly. Only as mankind grows in spiritual stature, and
lifts his head above the clouds, can he hope to see the ray in all its
purity and glory."

"Yes, I suppose that's so," assented Donald. "But I'm afraid that my
difficulties lie deeper than the unessential differences in dogma.
However, since our little friend is the one who has questions to ask,
let her conduct the catechism."