“I didn’t mean—that kind of thing,” the man said. He looked more intently at the boy. “How do you know, at your age, what God would or would not forbid?”
The child seemed to turn this question over in his mind for a moment and, evidently finding it too much for his comprehension, fell back on something of which he felt quite sure.
“‘God is love’—‘unfailing, quick,’” he said, looking off over the sea, and unconsciously mixing up two things which he had learned at different times.
Suddenly he turned and faced his companion fully.
“Don’t you know about ‘a very present help’?” he asked.
“Can’t say that I do, though it sounds familiar. Do you know about it?”
“Oh, yes! I’ve always known about it.”
He inspected Gilbert Graham gravely, as though he were an entirely new type of being—as indeed he was to Gerald.
“If you don’t know about ‘a very present help,’” he began, “what would you do if—if—” he looked around, and finally took his illustration from the thing closest at hand—“if a big, oh, a big, big wave—” extending his arms to their utmost limit to express vastness—“was to come and sweep you away?”
“Drown, I suppose, seeing that I’m no great swimmer. What would you do?”