“Don’t you think those bubbles more beautiful than any precious stones you ever saw, papa?”
“Yes, my love, I think they are, except it be the opal. In the opal, God seems to have fixed the evanescent and made the vanishing eternal.”
“And flowers are more beautiful things than jewels?’ she said interrogatively.
“Many—perhaps most flowers are,” I granted. “And did you ever see such curves and delicate textures anywhere else as in the clouds, papa?”
“I think not—in the cirrhous clouds at least—the frozen ones. But what are you putting me to my catechism for in this way, my child?”
“O, papa, I could go on a long time with that catechism; but I will end with one question more, which you will perhaps find a little harder to answer. Only I daresay you have had an answer ready for years lest one of us should ask you some day.”
“No, my love. I never got an answer ready for anything lest one of my children should ask me. But it is not surprising either that children should be puzzled about the things that have puzzled their father, or that by the time they are able to put the questions, he should have found out some sort of an answer to most of them. Go on with your catechism, Wynnie. Now for your puzzle!”
“It’s not a funny question, papa; it’s a very serious one. I can’t think why the unchanging God should have made all the most beautiful things wither and grow ugly, or burst and vanish, or die somehow and be no more. Mamma is not so beautiful as she once was, is she?”
“In one way, no; but in another and better way, much more so. But we will not talk about her kind of beauty just now; we will keep to the more material loveliness of which you have been speaking—though, in truth, no loveliness can be only material. Well, then, for my answer; it is, I think, because God loves the beauty so much that he makes all beautiful things vanish quickly.”
“I do not understand you, papa.”