"Things are real to us as we see them; not always as they are," said Mr. Delancy.
"And this is true of life?"
"Yes, child. It is in life that we create for ourselves real things out of what to some are airy nothings. Real things, against which we often bruise or maim ourselves, while to others they are as intangible as shadows."
"I never thought of that," said Rose.
"It is true."
"Yes, I see it. Imaginary evils we thus make real things, and hurt ourselves by contact, as, maybe, you have done this morning, Mr. Delancy."
"Yes—yes. And false ideas of things which are unrealities in the abstract—for only what is true has actual substance—become real to the perverted understanding. Ah, child, there are strange contradictions and deep problems in life for each of us to solve."
"But, God helping us, we may always reach the true solution," said Rose Carman, lifting a bright, confident face to that of her companion.
"That was spoken well, my child," returned Mr. Delancy, with a new life in his voice; "and without Him we can never be certain of our way."
"Never—never." There was a tender, trusting solemnity in the voice of Rose.