"I used to," Verty replied.
"It was so wrong."
"Yes, yes."
"And Verty gazed at the sunset with his dreamy, yet kindling eyes.
"If there is a Great Spirit, we ought to talk to him," he said, "and tell him what we want, and ask him to make us good; I think so at least—"
"Indeed we should."
"Then," continued Verty, "if that is true, we ought to think whether there is or is not such a spirit. There may be people in towns who don't believe there is—but I am obliged to. Look at the sun, Redbud—the beautiful sun going away like a great torch dying out;—and look at the clouds, as red as if a thousand deer had come to their death, and poured their blood out in a river! Look at the woods here, every color of the bow in the cloud, and the streams, and rocks, and all! There must be a Great Spirit who loves men, or he never would have made the world so beautiful."
Verty paused, and they went on slowly.
"We love him because he first loved us," said Redbud, thoughtfully.
"Yes, and what a love it must have been. Oh me!" said the young man, "I sometimes think of it until my heart is melted to water, and my eyes begin to feel heavy. What love it was!—and if we do not love in return, what punishment is great enough for such a crime!"