"Well, now you can understand why God sometimes gets angry. But even if He gets angry," Mrs. Lidderdale went on, for she was rather afraid of her son's capacity for logic, "God never lets His anger get the better of Him. He is not only sorry for the poor dog, but He is also sorry for the poor person who is ill-treating the dog. He knows that the poor person has perhaps never been taught better, and then the Eye fills with tears again."
"I think I like Jesus better than God," said Mark, going off at a tangent. He felt that there were too many points of resemblance between his own father and God to make it prudent to persevere with the discussion. On the subject of his father he always found his mother strangely uncomprehending, and the only times she was really angry with him was when he refused out of his basic honesty to admit that he loved his father.
"But Our Lord is God," Mrs. Lidderdale protested.
Mark wrinkled his face in an effort to confront once more this eternal puzzle.
"Don't you remember, darling, three Persons and one God?"
Mark sighed.
"You haven't forgotten that clover-leaf we picked one day in Kensington Gardens?"
"When we fed the ducks on the Round Pond?"
"Yes, darling, but don't think about ducks just now. I want you to think about the Holy Trinity."
"But I can't understand the Holy Trinity, Mother," he protested.