as one day," I said.

"That's supposing," he answered, "that the Lord did make the world.
For my part, I am half of a mind that the Lord didn't make it at
all."

"I am very glad to hear you say so," I answered.

Hereupon I found that we had changed places a little. He looked up
at me. The smile of superiority was no longer there, and a puzzled
questioning, which might indicate either "Who would have expected
that from you?" or, "What can he mean?" or both at once, had taken
its place. I, for my part, knew that on the scale of the man's
judgment I had risen nearer to his own level. As he said nothing,
however, and I was in danger of being misunderstood, I proceeded at
once.

"Of course it seems to me better that you should not believe God had
done a thing, than that you should believe He had not done it well!"

"Ah! I see, sir. Then you will allow there is some room for doubting
whether He made the world at all?"

"Yes; for I do not think an honest man, as you seem to me to be,
would be able to doubt without any room whatever. That would be only
for a fool. But it is just possible, as we are not perfectly good
ourselves--you'll allow that, won't you?"

"That I will, sir; God knows."