He talked in a soft, low tone, as if I was ill. He made
no allusions to mundane things; and I am grateful to him for
coming. He had dreaded his call, I am sure, and he had done it from
a mixture of affection and duty, both good things.
"Perfect Love, yes--if we could feel that!" I sate musing in my
chair.
I saw, as in a picture, a child brought up in a beautiful and
stately house by a grave strong man, who lavished at first love and
tenderness, ease and beauty, on the child, laughing with him, and
making much of him; all of which the child took unconsciously,
unthinkingly, knowing nothing different; running to meet his
guardian, glad to be with him, sorry to leave him.
Then I saw in my parable that one day, when the child played in the
garden, as he had often played before, he noticed a little green
alley, with a pleasant arch of foliage, that he had never seen
before, leading to some secluded place. The child was dimly aware
that there were parts of the garden where he was supposed not to
go; he had been told he must not go too far from the house, but it
was all vague and indistinct in his mind; he had never been shown
anything precisely, or told the limits of his wanderings.
Pages:
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344