Nothing in the
naturally courageous bent of his mind prevented him; everything in his
experiences of the Baptists, with their constant habit of homely
illustration, encouraged him to do so.
He imagined the First and the Third Persons of the Trinity seated
royally but vaguely amid the clouds, all about them a splendor of
light like that of sunset or dawn, melodious music faintly
perceptible, exquisitely beautiful forms of angels rising on white
wings, hovering obediently, fading obediently--but they themselves,
the Lords of Life and of Death, the Masters of Time and Space, were
two tangible concrete old men--two venerable wise old men--the
ultimate strained extended conception of two powerful, honored,
high-placed old men. And they talked as men would talk--not in the
human vocabulary, but conveying to each other, _somehow_, human
ideas--about the man William Dale.
It was at the period of his conversion or repentance or baptism, and
they were speaking to each other of Their Beloved Son and His newest
recruit. And God the Father seemed to say that He would hope for the
best--although, as they Both knew, Christ was too easily imposed on.
And God the Holy Ghost pursed His lips, and shook His head, and said,
"Take it from Me, this fellow Dale will turn out badly"--seeming to
add or explain that it was a mere pretense and no true repentance.
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