“‘Fore-ordained,’ darling? Why, it means—well, let me see—why, well—it’s a little hard to explain, darling.”
“I’m glad it is, Mother, because I don’t want to be stupid. I’m glad you don’t know either.”
“Oh, well, I don’t quite say that, Paul, but it is a little difficult. You see it is difficult to explain about God.”
“Oh, no! Not difficult about God. Why! I know God just as well as—anything.”
“Do you, dear?”
“Yes, and I often see Him——”
“See Him, darling?” The mother’s voice was a little shocked. “What do you mean? When do you see Him?”
“Oh, lots of times. But mostly when I lie down on my back under the big pine trees away up on the hill here, Mother, and look away up between the big tops into the clouds—no, I mean behind the clouds—way up through the little blue holes—I see Him looking down at me, quiet, quiet, oh, awful quiet—just like He was watching and thinking—you know, just like you sometimes when you look far, far away over the river and away far behind the mountains, at something you don’t see. That’s the way He looks down through the clouds and between the trees, and He sees me too but He never says anything out loud—just looks and looks, and whispers—just like little winds.”
“And what does He look like, darling? I mean what—who does He make you think of?” asked the mother.
“Oh, I don’t know azackly. Oh, yes, a’course—why, I never thought before, Mother—it’s you, a’course. Only He’s a man an’ bigger—oh, much bigger, and stronger.” The little boy paused a moment or two, then said shyly, “An’ I like Him, Mother, awful well.”