"Don't you think it looks sometimes, papa, as if God turned his back on the
world, or went farther away from it for a while?"

"Tell me a little more what you mean, Connie."

"Well, this night now, this dark, frozen, lifeless night, which you have
been describing to me, isn't like God at all--is it?"

"No, it is not. I see what you mean now."

"It is just as if he had gone away and said, 'Now you shall see what you
can do without me.'

"Something like that. But do you know that English people--at least I think
so--enjoy the changeful weather of their country much more upon the whole
than those who have fine weather constantly? You see it is not enough to
satisfy God's goodness that he should give us all things richly to enjoy,
but he must make us able to enjoy them as richly as he gives them. He has
to consider not only the gift, but the receiver of the gift. He has to make
us able to take the gift and make it our own, as well as to give us the
gift. In fact, it is not real giving, with the full, that is, the divine,
meaning of giving, without it. He has to give us to the gift as well as
give the gift to us. Now for this, a break, an interruption is good, is
invaluable, for then we begin to think about the thing, and do something in
the matter ourselves. The wonder of God's teaching is that, in great part,
he makes us not merely learn, but teach ourselves, and that is far grander
than if he only made our minds as he makes our bodies."

"I think I understand you, papa. For since I have been ill, you would