"Why, don't you see? The stars are the little holes they left in the blue sky, with the light of heaven shining through."
"Oh!" you said, softly. "Oh, Mother!"
And then, in the hush of the garden, you looked at her, and lo! her eyes were blue like the violets, and bright like the stars, for the light of heaven was shining through.
She was the most wonderful person in the whole world—who never did anything wrong, who knew everything, even who God was, watching, night and day, over little boys. Even the hairs of your head were numbered, she told you, and not a little bird died but He knew.
"And did He know when Cock Robin died, Mother?"
"Yes. He knew."
"And when I hurt my finger, Mother? Did He know then?"
"Yes, He knows everything."
"And was He sorry, Mother, when I hurt my finger?"
"Very sorry, dear."