"I don't say that. There is a right as well as a wrong way of wishing. And there is a Divine discontent, as well as a discontent which isn't Divine."
"And the Divine discontent—?" she questioned.
"Do you remember Mrs. Gatty's Parables? I suppose it is the sort that makes the grub climb out of the pond, to become the winged creature."
"I'm afraid mine is the discontent that isn't Divine," she said slowly. "I want things changed —different—and—Winnie said things were right because God had arranged them for us. I don't think I feel like that in the least."
The Rector looked up in her face. The one person with whom he was not tongue-tied was this daughter?
"My dear—some of God's saints have taken fifty years to learn that lesson perfectly."
"To learn that things are right—because—"
"To learn that, whatever our conditions may be, those conditions are the best that can be for us—in view of the future. It means a great deal. It means—knowing God, knowing Christ, with a personal intimate knowledge—as man knows man—and trusting His love and wisdom—as friend trusts friend. We begin with infantine knowledge. We go on to that."
"And Winnie has got to that, you think!"
"I don't know how far Winnie has got. I don't suppose she knows herself. She is learning—we are all learning. Some are more willing to be taught than others. And our Father puts us, each one, into just that class in His earthly school where we can best be taught."