"How came the island here?" she asked. "Who brought the rocks and the trees?" She was told how the island was lifted into its place; how the soil was formed, the trees planted, and the island made ready for the birds, for the trees, for the rabbits, for the squirrels, and for her--just as her father had built the house for her, in which she lived. As the time for her return to her home approached, she sat one evening watching the sunset and the early evening stars, and said, "Don't you hope that God will be at home when we get there, just as He has been here this summer?" So linked with her love of the beautiful in the world was her reverent thought of Him who had mad it beautiful-- Sarah Louise Arnold, "Proceedings of the Religious Education Association," 1905.
I have in mind a four-year-old girl, favored in many things, but especially happy in that she spends her summers on an island in a beautiful lake, mountain-rimmed. She has always been privileged to walk with her father and mother in the fields and woods; to "go a-trudging," as she called it, has been her chief delight. "Where did the trees get their red and yellow leaves?" she asked. "Who made them red and yellow?" Her question answered, she ran to her mother with her chubby hands filled with her new treasures, saying, "See, mama! I have brought you some of God's beautiful leaves!"
