"But, Hepsa, God loves us; then, too, he is everywhere at once."
"Mercy!" said Hepsa to herself, in a low tone. "Worse and worse!"
"And he made everything you see, Hepsa, and a great deal more beside," continued Genevieve.
"There, there!" said Hepsa, impatiently; "don't talk any more; it sounds odd." Genevieve looked at Hepsa, and the wild, petulant look of
her face grieved and shocked her so much, that she burst into tears.
"What is the matter?" said Hepsa. "I thought you were going to get me the flowers."
"And so I will," said Genevieve, wiping up her tears as well as she could; and she ran into the garden, and picked a large bunch of flowers. There were the sweet mignonette and heliotrope, the pink verbena, and the beautiful white scented verbena, the gay phlox, the pure candytuft, bits of lemon blossoms, and the faithful pansies. It was such a beautiful bunch as to melt poor Hepsa's heart to gratitude.
"I do think I should love to kiss you," she said to Genevieve, "if my face were not so dirty, and you look so clean."
"I don't care!" said Genevieve, and so she kissed Hepsa and said, "Hepsa, I wish you would never again talk so about God, for I love him very dearly, and so do my father and mother."
Hepsa began to think Genevieve was not crazy, and so she became more serious.