. . wicked . . ."
But Henri went on unheedingly, still addressing Manuel.
"Now you are a boy, and I daresay you can read and think,--you are
about my age I suppose. And you are left all alone in the world,
with nobody to care for you,--well, do you think that is well-
arranged?--And do you think there is any sense in believing in a God
who does such a lot of cruel things? And when He won't help us ever
so little? How can people be good if they keep on praying and
praying, and hoping and hoping, and working and working--and yet
nothing comes of it all but trouble and pain and loss . . ." He stopped
for sheer lack of breath to go on.
Manuel looked at him quietly, full in the eyes.
"Yes, it is hard!" he said--"Very hard! But it is not God who does
any cruel thing. God is Love,--and the Spirit of Love cannot be
cruel. It is the people of the world themselves,--the people who
injure each other in thought, word and deed,--and who have no spirit
of love in them,--these invite sorrow and pain, and rush upon
misfortune. Then they blame God for it! Ah, it is easy to blame
God!--so much easier than to blame one's self! And if you ask me if
it is well for those who suffer cruel things to still believe in
God, I say yes, I do think it well,--for it is the only chance they
have of finding the right way of life after much wandering in the
wrong.
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