The little girl tried to discover by his eyes if he were in earnest.
“If you believe there is, then you could believe that I was really sick; but if you believe there isn't, and that God created everybody and everything, then it is so easy to understand that I wasn't. Think of God creating anything bad!”
Mr. Evringham nodded vaguely. “When mother comes home she'll tell you about it, if you want her to.” She sighed a little and abruptly changed the subject. “Grandpa, are you going to be working at your desk?”
“Yes, for a while.”
“Could I sit over at that table and write a letter while you're busy? I wouldn't speak.” She slipped down from his knee.
“I don't know about your having ink. You're a rather small girl to be writing letters.”
“Oh no, I'll take a pencil—because sometimes I move quickly and ink tips over.”
“Quite so. I'm glad you realize that, else I should be afraid to have you come to my study.”
“You'd better not be afraid,” the child shook her head sagely, “because that makes things happen.”
Her grandfather regarded her curiously. This small Bible student, who couldn't tie her own hair ribbons, was an increasing problem to him.