The color rose in the child’s face, and he turned his head a little away whilst he made his answer.
“I try not to fret and be unhappy because—because I haven’t any home or name or anything. I try to love God, and ask Him to make things come right when He thinks best. I want to be good, and not to be impatient or ungrateful or naughty. I can’t say it properly; but I do try.”
Bertie stopped short. He had not made his meaning at all clear, yet he knew himself what he had in his mind.
Queenie was very much surprised at being talked to so seriously. She had never in her life been troubled by thoughts such as these. It seemed to her rather awful and unnatural.
“Bertie,” she said, rather severely, “are you saying all that because you think it sounds fine?”
He looked very much surprised.
“All what?”
“Why, all that about God. You can’t really care about Him, you know.”
Bertie was silent. He knew that he did love God, and did believe that He was taking care of him; but he did not in the least know how to say it all to Queenie.
“Yes, I do,” he answered, after a long pause.