What the wind did

by Amy Le Feuvre

"I don't know that I do. One goes from force of habit generally. It is a mere form to me."

"What is a form? A wooden seat without a back, isn't it? You don't like the seats, I s'pose?"

Rufus laughed.

"What takes you to church, Greta?"

Greta's face assumed a sweet, serious air.

"To meet God," she replied, softly. "It's rather a long time to sit still, but I like to sing and listen to the organ; and in the sermon I look about for God."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Well, I like to look up high in the roof till I fancy He is looking down; and when I seem to know He is there, I just speak to Him a little in a whisper, you know. I don't mean say my prayers; but I tell Him little things that Becca wouldn't call proper if I put them in my prayers."

"What kind of things?"

Greta did not answer for a moment, and Rufus, looking down upon the sweet little face felt an awe as he realized that this tiny child had no difficulty in holding communion with the Almighty God, the Creator of the Universe.