WORLD'S END

"All French writers," said the deacon of the First Congregational Church. "May I inquire whether any of your advisers ever mentioned a book called the Bible?"

"Oh, yes, sir. M. Rochambeau told me that I should study the New Testament. I had some difficulty in finding a copy on the Riviera."

"Did you read it?"

"Every word of it, sir."

"And what did you get out of it?"

"It moved me deeply; in fact it made me cry, four different times. You know it tells the same story four times over."

"I am aware of it," said the old gentleman, dryly. "Have you read the Old Testament?"

"No, sir; that is one of the unfortunate gaps in my education. They tell me you are conducting a Bible class."

"Every Sunday morning at ten o'clock. I am dealing with the First Book of Samuel, and would be pleased to have my grandson enroll."

"Thank you. I will surely come. M. Rochambeau tells me that the best Jewish literature is found in the Old Testament."

"It is much more than Jewish literature, young man. Do not forget that it is the Word of Almighty God, your heavenly Father."

VIII

All that time Robbie Budd had been sitting in silence, occupied with keeping his emotions from showing in his face. Of course he knew that this youngster had had a lot of practice in dealing with elderly gentlemen. Colonels and generals, cabinet ministers, senators, diplomats, bankers, they had come to Bienvenu, and sometimes it had happened that a boy had to make conversation until his mother got her nose powdered; or perhaps he had taken them for a sail, or for a walk, to show them the charms of the Cap. All this experience he had now put to use, apparently with success; for here sat the leader of the men's Bible class of the First Congregational Church of Newcastle, Connecticut, who was supposed to be saving the world for democracy, and had before him a portfolio of important papers contributory to that end; but he put his heavy fist on them, and set to work to save the soul of a seventeen-year-old bastard from a semi-heathen part of the world where you had difficulty in finding a copy of the sacred Word of God.

To this almost-lost soul he explained that the Scripture was a source, not merely of church doctrine, but of church polity; and that officers of the church - including Deacon Budd - were to be thought of as exemplars of Christian doctrine, from whom others might understand the nature of Conversion and the reality of Salvation. The deacon reached into the corner of his desk and produced a small pamphlet, yellowed with age, entitled A Brief Digest of the Boston Confession of Faith. "This," said he, "was composed by your great-great-grandfather for popular use as a simple statement of our basic faith. In it you will find clearly set forth that central truth of our religion - that there is no Salvation save in the blood of the Cross. For that guilt incurred by Adam's sin passed on into humanity together with the colossal iniquity of the accumulated sins through the ages has made all men hopelessly evil in God's sight, and deserving His just punishment of spiritual death. Outraged by human sin, the wrath of God has only been appeased by the atoning blood shed by His Son upon the Cross, and only by faith in the blood of Christ can any man find Salvation. No righteousness of life, no good deeds or kindly words, no service of fellow-men can offer any hope of Salvation. It is belief in that redeeming blood poured out on Calvary that alone can win God's forgiveness and save us from eternal death. I recommend the pamphlet as your introduction to the study of the true Old Gospel."

"Yes, Grandfather," said Lanny. He was deeply impressed. As in the case of Kurt explaining the intricacies of German philosophy, Lanny could not be sure how many of these striking ideas had been created by his remarkable progenitors.

Having thus performed his duty as a guardian of sound doctrine, the old gentleman allowed himself to unbend. "Your father tells me that you had a pleasant voyage."

"Oh, yes," replied the youth, brightening. "It couldn't have been pleasanter - except for the collision with an iceberg. Did Robbie tell you about that?"

"He overlooked it."

"It was such a small iceberg, I suppose it would be better to speak of it as a cake of ice. But it gave us quite a bump, and the ship came to a stop. Of course everybody's mind had been on submarines from the moment we left England, so they all thought we had been torpedoed, and there was a panic among the passengers."

"Indeed?"