"O, mamma! I should have thought you knew all papa had got to say by this
time. I daresay he has given you a thousand sermons all to yourself."

"Then you suppose, Connie, that I came into the world with just a boxful of
sermons, and after I had taken them all out there were no more. I should be
sorry to think I should not have a good many new things to say by this time
next year."

"Well, papa, I wish I could he sure of knowing more next year."

"Most people do learn, whether they will or not. But the kind of learning
is very different in the two cases."

"But I want to ask you one question, papa: do you think that we should not
know Jesus better now if he were to come and let us see him--as he came to
the disciples so long, long ago? I wish it were not so long ago."

"As to the time, it makes no difference whether it was last year or two
thousand years ago. The whole question is how much we understand, and
understanding, obey him. And I do not think we should be any nearer that if
he came amongst us bodily again. If we should, he would come. I believe we
should be further off it."

"Do you think, then," said Connie, in an almost despairing tone, as if I
were the prophet of great evil, "that we shall never, never, never see
him?"

"That is _quite_ another thing, my Connie. That is the heart of my hopes by
day and my dreams by night. To behold the face of Jesus seems to me the one