"Why Claire," said her mother, "you are becoming a regular pessimist. Surely at your age there is no need to borrow trouble about death or anything else."
"I do not borrow it, mamma, it comes. Pain follows pleasure, sorrow treads upon the heals of happiness, and misfortune is the constant attendant of fortune. There is, as I said, no perfect happiness, so it seems to me."
"Pardon me," said the missionary, "but you did not finish your sentence. Shall I do so for you?"
"O, by all means," replied the girl with eager delight.
"Well, then," he continued, "doubtless what you meant to say was that there is no such thing as perfect happiness in either the contemplation or realization of things which in themselves are fleeting and unsubstantial—that is, the things of the world. Every movement of the machinery of a steamer, for instance, creates friction, which in turn indicates an eventual breaking down, and so it is with all temporal things; thus we cannot rely upon them for permanent good, and in addition they are constantly subjecting us to peril.
"It is impossible to create perfect results out of imperfect conditions; therefore, there can be no complete or unbroken happiness come out of earthly surroundings, for the reason that all such things are changeable and fleeting. And yet there is such a state as perfect joy unclouded and endless."
"But not in this life, as you yourself have shown."
"Yes, in this life."
"I thought you referred to this life as uncertain and ephemeral and as such curtailed or extinguished its own joys."
"That is true, also. But yet endless and supreme delight is to be found in it."