finger the tender places in the natures of these Catholics, who, whatever
their lives, held fast to the immemorial form, the sacredness of Mother
Church. They were ever ready to step into the galley which should bear
them all home, with the invisible rowers of God at the oars, down the
wild rapids, to the haven of St. Peter. There was savagery in their
faces now.

He saw, and he could not refrain from smiling as he stretched out his
hand to them again with a little quieting gesture, and continued
soothingly:

"But why should we ask? There's a thing called electricity. Well, you
know that if you take a slice out of anything, less remains behind. We
can take the air out of this room, and scarcely leave any in it.

"We take a drink out of a bottle, and certainly there isn't as much left
in it! But the queer thing is that with this electricity you take it
away and just as much remains. It goes out from your toe, rushes away to
Timbuctoo, and is back in your toe before you can wink. Why? No one
knows. What's the good of asking? You can't see it: you can only see
what it does. What good would it do us if we knew all about it? There
it is, and it's going to revolutionise the world. It's no good asking--
no one knows what it is and where it comes from, or what it looks like.
It's better to go it blind, because you feel the power, though you can't
see where it comes from. You can't tell where the fields of Eden are,
but you believe they're somewhere, and that you'll get to them some day.
So say your prayers, believe all you can, don't ask questions, and don't
try to answer 'em; and remember that Charley Steele preached to you the
fear of the Lord at the Cote Dorion, and wound up the service with the
fine old hymn: