`To do as he does.'
`Does he know better?'
`Perhaps he does; but that is nothing to you.'
`If he doesn't, you ought to tell him, mamma.'
`I have told him.'
The litHe moralist paused and pondered. I tried in vain to divert his mind from the subject.
`I'm sorry papa's wicked,' said he mournfully, at length, `for I don't want him to go to hell.' And so saying he burst into tears.
I consoled him with the hope that perhaps his papa would alter and become good before he died--but is it not time to deliver him from such a parent?