"Why, yes, Hepsa, ever so many times, and I think it is God. And when Katie leaves me to go to sleep, and it is all dark, I know God comes then, for I feel him all around, and the room seems so big—bigger than it ever did before, bigger than the garden, bigger than the fields, bigger than the sky. I can't tell you how big."
"O, well—and—what did you say your name was?" asked Hepsa.
"Genevieve;" and she pronounced it very slowly.
"It is rather odd," said Hepsa, trying to repeat the name; "but I want to know if you ever laid down on the ground when it rained, and listened."
"No!"
"Well, it is real beautiful; in the grass, it sounds like bells—it sounds better where the grass is tall."
"I wish I could hear it," said Genevieve, sadly; "but my mother wouldn't like to have me lie on the ground when it rained."
"How would she know it," asked Hepsa, "if you didn't tell her?"
"Why, Hepsa, I shouldn't want to if she wouldn't like it—I shouldn't want to at all."