"He didn't make the houses," said Ailie. "Father was a mason, and he built some of 'em—leastways he helped."
"What was they built of, deary?"
"Stones an' bricks," said Ailie.
"And how did he get the bricks?"
"Why, they was all made, gran'father, 'cause once father took me ever so long a walk, and there was all the rows and piles o' bricks, an' men a-making of them as fast as they could."
"An' who made the stones, deary, an' who made the clay the bricks was made of?"
Ailie looked at him without speaking.
"Yes, 'twas God did all that," said Job. "He made the earth, an' the stars, and the sun, an' moon, and the trees, an' grass, and the birds, an' beasts, and men, an' women, an' children, an' old Job Kippis, an' little Ailie. He made everything, an' He's everywhere."
"How did He make 'em?" asked Ailie.
"Why He made them out o' nothing," said Job. "That's just what men can't do. Give me a bit of red cloth an' I'll make a coat; but tell me to make it out of nothing, and ye might as well tell me to fly like a bird. But God can, ye see, Ailie. He says, 'Let there be light,' an' light comes; an' He says, 'Let things be made,' an' they're made."