In consequence of hearing so much about an Omniscient God, a being of supernatural wisdom and penetration who was always with us, who made, in fact, a fourth in our company, I had come to think of Him, not without awe, but with absolute confidence.  My Father and Mother, in their serene discipline of me, never argued with one another, never even differed; their wills seemed absolutely one.  My Mother always deferred to my Father, and in his absence spoke of him to me, as if he were all-wise.  I confused him in some sense with God; at all events I believed that my Father knew everything and saw everything.  One morning in my sixth year, my Mother and I were alone in the morning-room, when my Father came in and announced some fact to us.  I was standing on the rug, gazing at him, and when he made this statement, I remember turning quickly, in embarrassment, and looking into the fire.  The shock to me was as that of a thunderbolt, for what my Father had said ‘was not true’.  My Mother and I, who had been present at the trifling incident, were aware that it had not happened exactly as it had been reported to him.  My Mother gently told him so, and he accepted the correction.  Nothing could possibly have been more trifling to my parents, but to me it meant an epoch.  Here was the appalling discovery, never suspected before, that my Father was not as God, and did not know everything.  The shock was not caused by any suspicion that he was not telling the truth, as it appeared to him, but by the awful proof that he was not, as I had supposed, omniscient.

This experience was followed by another, which confirmed the first, but carried me a great deal further.  In our little back-garden, my Father had built up a rockery for ferns and mosses and from the water-supply of the house he had drawn a leaden pipe so that it pierced upwards through the rockery and produced, when a tap was turned, a pretty silvery parasol of water.  The pipe was exposed somewhere near the foot of the rockery.  One day, two workmen, who were doing some repairs, left their tools during the dinner-hour in the back-garden, and as I was marching about I suddenly thought that to see whether one of these tools could make a hole in the pipe would be attractive.  It did make such a hole, quite easily, and then the matter escaped my mind.  But a day or two afterwards, when my Father came in to dinner, he was very angry.  He had turned the tap, and instead of the fountain arching at the summit, there had been a rush of water through a hole at the foot.  The rockery was absolutely ruined.

Of course I realized in a moment what I had done, and I sat frozen with alarm, waiting to be denounced.  But my Mother remarked on the visit of the plumbers two or three days before, and my Father instantly took up the suggestion.  No doubt that was it; the mischievous fellows had thought it amusing to stab the pipe and spoil the fountain.  No suspicion fell on me; no question was asked of me.  I sat there, turned to stone within, but outwardly sympathetic and with unchecked appetite.