“I’m beginning to know about that one.”
“I know about the sick sea, myself!” Gerald declared.
“So do I,” Graham admitted.
“And then there’s the one daddy was nearly drowned in, the one you said you were far out on. But mamma says it doesn’t matter a bit what the name is, or how rough it is, or how far from shore you are, Love can walk over any sea and come and get you!”
Gilbert Graham was looking at the boy with an intent, earnest gaze. Was the gulf so fixed, so impassable, after all? Suppose there was a Power which could cross it and come to a man in his extremity?
“When I was out on the sick sea,” Gerald went on, “and my head was so wobbly that I didn’t know daddy or mamma, Love came and got me, right away. Oh, but ’twas fine when my head didn’t feel wobbly any more!”
“How are you going to get it all started?” Graham asked.
The child evidently did not grasp his meaning, so he put it in another way.
“Supposing I wanted this ‘very present help’—wanted it now—wanted it badly—what would I have to do to get it started toward me?”
“Just know that you want it. My mamma says another word for ‘know,’ but ’tis a long one and I misremember it.”