"Not a bit, deary. Sure He likes you to want to know about Him. I'll tell you one thing He's like—He's just a kind gentle Father, who loves little children, an' wants 'em all to be happy."
"But if we was to see Him," explained Ailie softly, "what'd He be like?"
"'No man hath seen Him at any time,'" said Job, half unconsciously quoting from the Bible. "He's too glorious for that, Ailie. We'd have to lie down an' die that minute, if we could see God. We couldn't bear the sight."
"I don't know what 'glorious' means," said Ailie.
"Ain't the sun glorious when it shines so bright, an' dazzles your eyes if you try to look?"
Ailie's "yes" was emphatic.
"That's what it is; but the glory o' the sun is nothin' by His glory, deary—'twould look as dark as a piece o' black cloth in the sunlight."
"I'd like to see it," said Ailie.
"Nobody's seen Him—God, the Father, I mean," said Job reverently; "but He sent His Son into the world, and men saw Him, an' He was the Image of God."
Ailie did not understand—it was not likely she should.