“On the contrary, sir, may it not be rather the outcome of a preconceived idea—­of a belief that has been held universally for many ages and generations of men?  I do not deny disease—­who could? but suffering and disease have been looked upon from the earliest days as punishments wrought out upon a man for his sins.  Now, may not the haunting fear of this retributive justice be greatly responsible for suffering and disease of all kinds, since the mind unquestionably reacts upon the body?”

“Probably, sir, probably, but since disease is with us, how would you propose to remedy it?”

“By disbelieving in it; by regarding it as something abnormal and utterly foreign to the divine order of things.”

“Pooh!” exclaimed my venerable companion.  “Bah!—­quite, quite impracticable!”

“They say the same of ‘The Sermon on the Mount,’ sir,” I retorted.

“Can a man, wasting away in a decline, discredit the fact that he is dying with every breath he draws?”

“Had you, or I, or any man, the Christ-power to teach him a disbelief in his sickness, then would he be hale and well.  The Great Physician healed all diseases thus, without the aid of drugs, seeking only to implant in the mind of each sufferer the knowledge that he was whole and sound—­that is to say, a total disbelief in his malady.  How many times do we read the words:  ‘Thy faith hath made thee whole’?  All He demanded of them was faith—­or, as I say, a disbelief in their disease.”

“Then the cures of Christ were not miracles?”

“No more so than any great and noble work is a miracle.”

“And do you,” inquired my companion, removing his pipe from his lips, and staring at me very hard, “do you believe that Jesus Christ was the Son of God?”

“Yes,” said I, “in the same way that you and I are, and the Quack-salver yonder.”

“But was He divine?”

“Surely a mighty thinker—­a great teacher whose hand points the higher way, whose words inspire Humanity to nobler ends and aims, is, of necessity, divine.”

“You are a very bold young man, and talk, I think, a little wildly.”

“Heterodoxy has been styled so before, sir.”

“And a very young, young man.”

“That, sir, will be amended by time.”  Here, puffing at his pipe, and finding it gone out, he looked at me in surprise.

“Remarkable!” said he.

“What is, sir?”

“While I listened to you I have actually let my pipe go out—­a thing which rarely happens with me.”  As he spoke he thrust one hand into his pocket, when he glance slowly all round, and back once more to me.  “Remarkable!” said he again.

“What now, sir?”

“My purse has gone again!”

“What!—­gone!” I ejaculated.

“Vanished!” said he, and, to prove his words, turned inside out first one pocket and then the other.

“Come with me,” said I, springing up, “there is yet a chance that we may possibly recover it.”  Forthwith I led him to where had stood a certain gayly-painted caravan, but it was gone—­vanished as utterly as my companion’s purse.