"Yes. I have seen sparrows often in the court. They pick up dirt."
"Well, a lark is like a sparrow; only it doesn't pick up dirt, and sings as you hear it. And it flies so far up into the sky that you can't see it—you can only hear the song it scatters down upon the earth."
"Oh, how dreadful!" said Mattie, burying her head again as if she would shut out hearing and sight and all.
"What is it that is dreadful? I don't understand you, Mattie."
"To fly up into that awful place up there. Shall we have to do that when we die?"
"It is not an awful place, dear. God is there, you know."
"But I am frightened. And if God is up there, I shall be frightened at him too. It is so dreadful! I used to think that God could see me when I was in London. But how he is to see me in this great place, with so many things about, cocks and larks, and all, I can't think. I'm so little! I'm hardly worth taking care of."
"But you remember, Mattie, what Somebody says—that God takes care of every sparrow."
"Yes, but that's the sparrows, and they're in the town, you know," said Mattie, with an access of her old fantastic perversity, flying for succor, as it always does, to false logic.