Hoel looked at him, but said nothing. His look, though, meant inquiry, and this St. Joseph perceived.
"Is not a tree changed into something very different from what it was before," he went on, "when the warm air of spring breathes upon it, and the sap rises into it, and it puts forth green buds, and they swell, and burst, and afterward come leaves and fruit?"
"True," answered he; and then was silent, thinking.
"Did you ever see one of the trees down yonder blossom at this season?"
For all answer, Hoel laughed, and pointed to the leafless boughs on the island, and the shores around them.
"Could the gods whom you worship cause them to do so?"
"Not one of 'em all," answered he, with a somewhat scornful gesture.
"Then, who makes winter pass and spring return; the bud burst forth, and the fruit ripen?"
A pause. The poor pagan was not prepared to answer.
"Now," continued St. Joseph, "my God, the one living and true, not only has appointed the laws by which seasons come round with their produce, and the sun rises and sets. He sometimes, moreover, changes these things, according to his own all-perfect will, so that the sun stays motionless in the heavens above, and the tree blooms in mid-winter on the earth below."