When she can face all the new knowledge, feel the shaking of the old
foundations, in this spirit of trustful _discovery_, her doubts will
pass away. The world is saved through Christ, not through dogma and if
she can have the wise instructor or friend who can show her these things
she is safe.

Whenever one thinks of the little girl among the daisies there comes to
him in woful contrast the little girl in the crowded cities' wretched
streets. She is denied the daisy field. Stars do not tempt her to
wonder. The narrow streets filled with material things, pressing close,
crowd out sun and moon. The name of God is familiar to her ears but she
does not ask questions about Him. She associates the name with loud
voices, angry faces and often with blows. Death awakens wonder but there
is little time for answers to puzzled questionings. The few days of
relief from noise, the expressions of sympathy and friendship, the
unusual words of tenderness all make a deep impression--then life goes
on as before only harder because of the added expense. As the years pass
she accepts the teachings of her church, she can recite them more or
less glibly but they have nothing special to do with her life.
Philosophy and science do not trouble her. She says her prayers thinking
about other things and when she grows older stops saying them, save at
church.

Oftentimes as a little girl she receives no religious instruction, never
enters a church and the name of God drops in curses from her own lips.
Only now and then fear of the future takes possession of her for a
moment. Only in great stress of unusual suffering or pain, or in the
presence of awful sorrow is her soul stirred to ask the little girl's
question, "What is Heaven like?"