148 MORAL CONDITION OF THE CHILD 



my uplifted stick in wonder at the new emotion 

 the consciousness of an involuntary but inward 

 restraint upon my actions till the tortoise van- 

 ished from my sight. I hastened home and told 

 the tale to my mother, and asked what it was 

 that told me it was wrong. She wiped a tear 

 from her eye with her apron and, taking me up 

 in her arms, said: 'Some men call it conscience, 

 but I prefer to call it the voice of God in the soul 

 of man. If you listen and obey it, then it will 

 speak clearer and clearer, and always guide you 

 right ; but if you turn a deaf ear or disobey, then 

 it will fade out little by little and leave you all 

 in the dark without a guide. Your life depends 

 upon this voice.' Then she went her way about 

 her affairs, but no event of my life made a more 

 deep and lasting impression upon me." This 

 voice of God may at first speak only the things 

 that are permitted; it may associate itself with 

 the things that cause no pain; there may be pri- 

 marily and even permanently some confusion, but 

 its imperative is unmistakable; something in it 

 will be heard above the din and clamor of earthly 

 voices. Macbeth is not untrue to life when he 

 asks: 



Whence is that knocking? 



How is 't with me when every noise appalls me? 



What hands are here? Ha ! they pluck out my eyes. 



Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 



Clean from my hands? No ; this my hand will rather 



The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 



Making the green one red. (Macbeth, act ii, sc. 2.) 



