delight of his mother, the triumph of Willie, or the gratification of
his father, who saw in this good promise of his boy's capacity; for all
that I have written hitherto is only introductory to my story, and I
long to begin and tell it you in a regular straightforward fashion.

Before I begin, however, I must not forget to tell you that Willie did
ask his father the question with Mrs Wilson's answer to which he had not
been satisfied--I mean the question whether God worked; and his father's
answer, after he had sat pondering for a while in his chair, was
something to this effect:--

"Yes, Willie; it seems to me that God works more than anybody--for He
works all night and all day, and, if I remember rightly, Jesus tells
us somewhere that He works all Sunday too. If He were to stop working,
everything would stop being. The sun would stop shining, and the moon
and the stars; the corn would stop growing; there would be no more
apples or gooseberries; your eyes would stop seeing; your ears would
stop hearing; your fingers couldn't move an inch; and, worst of all,
your little heart would stop loving."

"No, papa," cried Willie; "I shouldn't stop loving, I'm sure."

"Indeed you would, Willie."

"Not you and mamma."

"Yes; you wouldn't love us any more than if you were dead asleep without
dreaming."

"That would be dreadful."