"Why, are you in trouble, Rupert?" she said, rousing up. "What about?"
"Never mind; let's have the comfort; that's the thing wanted just now. What would you say to me now if I wanted it pretty bad?"
"The trouble is, it is so hard to believe what God says," Dolly said, speaking half to herself and half to her companion.
"What does He say? Is it anything a fellow can take hold of and hold on to? I never could make out much by what I've heard folks tell; and I never heard much anyhow, to begin with."
"One of the things that are good to me," said Dolly, bowing her face on her hand, "is—that Jesus knows."
"Knows what?"
"All about it—everything—my trouble, and your trouble, if you have any."
"I don't see the comfort in that. If He knows, why don't He hinder? I suppose He can hinder?"
"He does hinder whatever would be real harm to His people; He has promised that."
"Well, ain't this real harm, that is worrying you?" said Rupert. "What do you call harm?"