“You told me about him long ago,” said Mamalis, shaking her head, “but I never saw him. He never comes to Manteo's wigwam.”
“Nay, but He is still your friend,” urged Virginia earnestly. “When you left the room this morning on that work of mercy to save us all, I did not see you, and yet I told my father that I knew you would do us good. Were you less my friend because I didn't see you?
“No.”
“No,” continued Virginia, “you were more my friend, for if you had remained with me, we might all have been lost. And so Jesus has but withdrawn Himself from our eyes that He may intercede with his offended father, as you did with Manteo.”
“Does he tell lies for us?” said the girl with artless simplicity, and still remembering her interview with her brother. Virginia felt a thrill of horror pass through her heart as she heard such language, but remembering the ignorance of her poor blinded pupil, she proceeded.
“Oh! Mamalis, do not talk thus. He of whom I speak is not as we are, and cannot commit a sin. But while He cannot commit sin Himself, He can die for the sins of others.”
“Well,” said the poor girl, seeing that she had unwittingly hurt the feelings of her friend, “I don't understand all that. Your God is so high, mine I can see and understand. But you love your God, I only fear mine.”
“And do you not believe that God is good, my poor friend?” said Virginia, with a sigh.
“From Manitou all good proceeds,” replied Mamalis, as with beautiful simplicity she thus detailed her simple creed, which she had been taught by her fathers. “From him is life, and joy, and love. The blue sky is his home, and the green earth he has made for his pleasure. The fresh smelling flowers and the pure air are his breath, and the sweet music of the wind through the woods is his voice. The stars that he has sown through heaven, are the pure shells which he has picked up by the rivers which flow through the spirit land; and the sun is his chariot, with which he drives through heaven, while he smiles upon the world. Such is Manitou, whose very life is the good giving; the bliss-bestowing.”
“My sweet Mamalis,” said Virginia, “you have, indeed, in your ignorance, painted a beautiful picture of the beneficence of God. And can you not—do you not thank this Giver of every good and perfect gift for all his mercies?”