“The Bible tells us, in Genesis, that ’everything that God made was good’; and, in Psalms, that ‘all His ways are perfect,’” quoted Katherine.

“Yes, I know it; that was in the beginning, though,” said Dorothy; “but if He could make things perfect in the first place I don’t see why He didn’t keep them so if He is God.”

“Come, come, dearie; I think we must go on now—­we are keeping Miss Reynolds and Miss Minturn from their walk,” Mrs. Seabrook again interposed, with a note of gentle reproof in her tone, as she stooped to tuck the robe more closely around the girl.

A sunny smile, like a burst of sunshine from under a cloud, suddenly broke over Dorothy’s face, at once dispelling its unnatural gravity and perplexity.

“I didn’t think how naughty that was going to sound, mamma dear,” she said, as, with a deprecating air, she softly patted her mother’s hand.  “I’m afraid Miss Minturn will think I am not very good; but, truly, things do seem awfully mixed up sometimes when I get to thinking this way.  I like you very, very much, though,” she added, nodding brightly at her new acquaintance.  “I wish you would come to see me in mamma’s apartments when you are not too busy.”

“I shall be very glad to—­if I may,” Katherine replied, with an inquiring glance at Mrs. Seabrook.

“Yes, do come, Miss Minturn, whenever you can find time; we are very glad to have the young ladies visit Dorothy, who has many lonely hours.  Now come, Alice,” and, with a parting smile and bow, she signaled the nurse to move on.

“Good-by, Miss Minturn, and thank you for my lovely rose,” cried the child, looking back over her shoulder and waving her small hand in farewell.

“Poor child,” sighed Miss Reynolds, as she and Katherine passed out of the grounds to the highway, “she has a continual struggle to live, yet she is a remarkable girl, in spite of her many infirmities, with a mind bright and keen far beyond her years.”

“How old is she?”

“Thirteen, a month or two ago.”

“Is it possible?  She does not look to be over seven or eight, although, mentally, she seems more mature.”

“That is true.  She had a bad fall when she was six years old, and her body has never grown any since the accident,” Miss Reynolds explained.  “She suffers a great deal—­sometimes the pain is almost unbearable; but, as a rule, she is very lovable and patient, though, now and then, a remark like what she made to you just now, shows that she thinks deeply and is perplexed—­like some children of larger growth—­over the knotty problems of life,” she concluded, with a sigh.

“How is it, Miss Minturn,” she went on, after a moment of silence, “how do you Scientists account for the fact that a perfect and all-merciful God—­’the Father of mercies, the God of all comfort,’ as Paul puts it—­has created a world of such confusion, wherein evil and suffering, instead of peace and harmony, are the predominant elements?—­where, for ages, sickness and death have relentlessly mown down generation after generation, until one becomes heart-sick and weary, and even filled with despair, at times, in view of their probable continuance for ages to come?”