There was a horrified murmur of “Bridget!”
“Well, so He can, if He likes prayers. I don’t believe He does, because He never answers any.... Anyway, it’s fine weather. I vote we have rounders after tea.”
There was a large assembly at rounders that evening, and Miss Ruggles, shutting her bedroom window with a bang, remarked to Miss Shuttleworth, the drawing-mistress, that conversion and peace were practically at an end.
The fact that Bridget’s mind had been seriously turned to spiritual matters, however, was not without permanent result. She had been unnaturally quiet throughout a Scripture lesson one Sunday, a month or two after Myrtle Lodge had resumed its normal tone. Just as the lesson was finished she said suddenly, fixing her eyes earnestly on Miss Ruggles,—
“But this is what I want to know,—how do you know there is a God?”
There was an electric silence.
“And you can read your Bible, Bridget, and ask me that!” Miss Ruggles replied in an awed tone.
“But that is just why I do ask. Is there a way of proving that the Bible is true?”
“Yes, there is the way of faith,” Miss Ruggles returned with impressive solemnity, if defective logic.
“But that isn’t a proof; it’s a feeling.”