“Oh!” she paused, and the brightness passed from her face.
“Do you think He likes that, Giles?”
She nodded upward. Her father made no reply. He was not a religious man, but had thought it right to tell the child that there was some one called God, who lived above the sky, and who knew when people did wrong.
“He has all outdoors,” Isla went on. “I should think He would hate a house, even if it was big. Do you suppose they try to fool Him with the coloured windows, Giles?”
Giles thought this unlikely; perhaps they supposed He might feel more at home where ’twas coloured and pretty, he added, trying to fall into the child’s mood.
The girl was silent. “Is He dumb, Giles, do you think?” she asked presently.
“I don’t know,” said Giles. “He never spoke to me. What are you thinking of, Isla Heron?”
“Oh—only I hear like voices sometimes in the wind, and down by the shore more times; and I wondered, that was all. Do you suppose ever He would speak to a girl, Giles?”
“Sooner than any one else!” said Giles Heron.