"I know," said my father, who, however, was learning the fact for the
first time. "I have not yet seen this precious relic, but I think they
might have found something less unpleasant."

"Perhaps they would if they could," replied the youth, laughing, "but
there was nothing else that the horses could leave. It is only a number
of curiously rounded stones, and not at all like what they say it is."

"Well, well," continued my father, "but relic or no relic, there are many
who, while they fully recognise the value of the Sunchild's teaching,
dislike these cock and bull stories as blasphemy against God's most
blessed gift of reason. There are many in Bridgeford who hate this story
of the horses."

The youth was now quite reassured. "So there are here, sir," he said
warmly, "and who hate the Sunchild too. If there is such a hell as he
used to talk about to my mother, we doubt not but that he will be cast
into its deepest fires. See how he has turned us all upside down. But
we dare not say what we think. There is no courage left in Erewhon."

Then waxing calmer he said, "It is you Bridgeford people and your Musical
Banks that have done it all. The Musical Bank Managers saw that the
people were falling away from them. Finding that the vulgar believed
this foreign devil Higgs--for he gave this name to my mother when he was
in prison--finding that--But you know all this as well as I do. How can
you Bridgeford Professors pretend to believe about these horses, and
about the Sunchild's being son to the sun, when all the time you know
there is no truth in it?"