"So, so!" said the tailor. "That's it, is it, Mattie?" "Yes; but we don't _say_ anything about such things, you know." "Oh, of course not," answered Mr. Spelt; and the conversation ceased. After a long pause, the child spoke again. "Is God good to you to-day, mother?" "Yes, Mattie. God is always good to us." "But he's better some days than others, isn't he?" To this question the tailor did not know what to reply, and therefore, like a wise man, did not make the attempt. He asked her instead, as he had often occasion to do with Mattie, what she meant. "Don't you know what I mean, mother? Don't you know God's better to us some days than others? Yes; and he's better to some people than he is to others." "I am sure he's always good to you and me, Mattie." "Well, yes; generally." "Why don't you say _always_?" "Because I'm not sure about it. Now to-day it's all very well. But yesterday the sun shone in the window a whole hour." "And I drew down the blind to shut it out," said Mr. Spelt, thoughtfully. "Well," Mattie went on, without heeding her friend's remark, "he _could_ make the sun shine every day, if he liked.--I _suppose_ he could," she added, doubtfully. "I don't think we should like it, if he did," returned Mr. Spelt, "for the drain down below smells bad in the hot weather." "But the rain might come--at night, I mean, not in the day-time, and wash them all out. Mightn't it, mother?" "Yes; but the heat makes people ill. And if you had such hot weather as they have in some parts, as I am told, you would be glad enough of a day like this." "Well, why haven't they a day like this, when they want it?" "God knows," said Mr. Spelt, whose magazine was nearly exhausted, and the enemy pressing on vigorously. "Well, that's what I say. God knows, and why doesn't he help it?" And Mr. Spelt surrendered, if silence was surrender. Mattie did not press her advantage, however, and the besieged plucked up heart a little. "I fancy perhaps, Mattie, he leaves something for us to do. You know they cut out the slop-work at the shop, and I can't do much more with that but put the pieces together. But when a repairing job comes in, I can contrive a bit then, and I like that better." Mr. Spelt's meaning was not very clear, either to himself or to Mattie. But it involved the shadow of a great truth--that all the discords we hear in the universe around us, are God's trumpets sounding a _réveillé_ to the sleeping human will, which once working harmoniously with his, will soon bring all things into a pure and healthy rectitude of operation. Till a man has learned to be happy without the sunshine, and therein becomes capable of enjoying it perfectly, it is well that the shine and the shadow should be mingled, so as God only knows how to mingle them. To effect the blessedness for which God made him, man must become a fellow-worker with God. After a little while Mattie resumed operations.