"Pain and trouble are not always harm," said Dolly, "for His children often have them, I know; and no trouble seems sweet at the minute, but bitter; and the sweet fruits come afterward. Oh, it's so bitter now!" cried poor Dolly, unable to keep the tears back again;—"but He knows. He knows."
"If He knows," said Rupert, wholly unable to understand this reasoning, "why doesn't He hinder? That's what I look at."
"I don't know," said Dolly faintly.
"What comforts you in that, then?" said Rupert almost impatiently. "That's too big a mouthful for me."
"No, you're wrong," said Dolly. "He knows why. I have the comfort of that, and so I am sure there is a why. It is not all vague chance and confusion, with no hand to rule anything. Don't you see what a difference that makes?"
"Do you mean to say, that everything that happens is for the best?"
"No," said Dolly. "Wrong can never be as good as right. Only, Rupert, God will so manage things that to His children—to His children—good shall come out of evil, and nothing really hurt them."
"Then the promise is only for them?"
"That's all. How could it be for the others?"
"I don't see it," said Rupert. "Seems to my eyes as if black was black and white white; it's the fault of my eyes, I s'pose. It is only moonshine to my eyes, that makes black white."