"You are fanciful and metaphysical," said the Doctor. "Euclid has not operated, I fear. Why would you go up to the source of that ray? Would you expect to find God and heaven there?" "I should but traverse the smallest portion of God," said Bart, "and yet how far away He seems just now. Somebody's unshapen hand cuts His light off; and I cannot see Him by looking down, and I haven't the strength to look up." "How incoherently you talk; after all, suppose that there is no God, for do your best, it is but a sentiment, a belief without demonstrative proof." "Oh, Doctor, don't! You are material, and go by lines and angles; cannot you understand that a God whose existence you would have to prove is no God at all? that if His works and givings out don't declare and proclaim him, He is a sham? You cannot see and hear, Doctor, when you are in one of your material moods. Look up, if you can see no reflection in the waters below." "Well, when I look into the revealed heaven, for instance, Bart, I see it peopled with things of the earth, reflected into it from the earth; showing that the whole idea is of the earth--earthy." "Oh, Doctor! like the poor old Galilean; when he thought it was all up, he went out and dug bait, and started off a-fishing. You attend to your fishing, and let me dream. If God should attempt to reveal Himself to you to-night, which I wouldn't do, He would have to elevate and enlarge and change you to a celestial, so that you could understand Him; or shrink and shrivel Himself to your capacity, and address you on your level, as I do, using the language and imagery of this earth, and you would answer Him as you do me--'It is all of the earth--earthy.' I want to sleep." The Doctor pondered as if there was a matter for thought in what he had heard, and a little ripple of under-talk ran on about the subjects, the everlasting old, old and eternally new problems that men have dreamed and stumbled over, and always will--which Bart had dreamily spoken of as if they were very familiar to his thoughts, and they spoke of him, and wondered if anything had happened, and pulled their boat to a new position, while the overtaxed youth subsided into fitful slumber. Theodore finally awoke him, and said that they proposed to light up the jack, if he would take the spear, and they would push out to deeper water, and try for bass. Bart stared about him uncomprehendingly for a moment. "Oh, Theodore, my fishing days are over! I will never 'wound the gentle bosom of this lake' with fish spear, or gig, or other instrument; and I've backed this old rifle around for the last time to-day." "Bart, think of all our splendid times in the woods!" "What a funny dream I had: I dreamed I was a young Indian, not John Brown's 'little Indian,' but a real red, strapping, painted young Indian, and our tribe was encamped over on the west side of this Indian lake, by Otter Point; and I was dreadfully in love with the chief's daughter."