‘But it’s only the prayer of faith that’s heard—do you believe, Wilfrid?’
‘I don’t know. I daren’t say I don’t. I wish I could say I do. But I dare say things will be considered.’
‘Wouldn’t it be grand if it was true, Wilfrid?’
‘What, Charley?’
‘That God actually let his creatures see him—and—all that came of it, you know?’
‘It would be grand indeed! But supposing it true, how could we be expected to believe it like them that saw him with their own eyes? I couldn’t be required to believe just as if I could have no doubt about it. It wouldn’t be fair. Only—perhaps we haven’t got the clew by the right end.’
‘Perhaps not. But sometimes I hate the whole thing. And then again I feel as if I must read all about it; not that I care for it exactly, but because a body must do something—because—I don’t know how to say it—because of the misery, you know.’
‘I don’t know that I do know—quite. But now you have started the subject, I thought that was great nonsense Mr Forest was talking about the authority of the Church the other day.’
‘Well, I thought so, too. I don’t see what right they have to say so and so, if they didn’t hear him speak. As to what he meant, they may be right or they may be wrong. If they have the gift of the Spirit, as they say—how am I to tell they have? All impostors claim it as well as the true men. If I had ever so little of the same gift myself, I suppose I could tell; but they say no one has till he believes—so they may be all humbugs for anything I can possibly tell; or they may be all true men, and yet I may fancy them all humbugs, and can’t help it.’
I was quite as much astonished to hear Charley talk in this style as some readers will be doubtful whether a boy could have talked such good sense. I said nothing, and a silence followed.