Walda cast upon him a look of such trustfulness that his conscience smote him.
“Stephen, my faith in the devil is not strong. I like not to think of the power of evil, for truly the world seemeth good to me. When I walk forth into the fields something in me maketh me to love the beauty of the sky, the vast stretches of rolling prairie, and the shining water of the distant lake. The bird-voices seem human to me, and yet the meadow-lark and the robin, the little creatures that God hath made, appear not to know of Satan’s rule.”
“Walda, you are not sinning. The Creator of all things is speaking to you through nature.”
“Dost thou believe that, Stephen?”
“Yes; science teaches that. Have you not been taught that the wood which burns so brightly on your hearth is giving out the sunshine stored for years, so that in time man might use it?”
Walda listened with parted lips.
“Ah, that is good,” she said. “Perhaps thou couldst unlock many of the mysteries that disturb me. Canst thou tell how the grain of wheat groweth when it is put into the ground? Dost thou know how the egg is changed into the nestling?”
“Science has probed the secrets of the seed and the egg, and it has discovered much. If it is permitted, I will send you books when I have returned to the world.”
“Nay, I am but a child in my ignorance. Canst thou not tell me about the mysteries when thou comest here to this room?”
“It would be a privilege to teach you,” said Everett. “We might have our first lesson to-morrow.”