It was very remarkable how Mattie would use the name of God, never certainly with irreverence, but with a freedom that seemed to indicate that to her he was chiefly if not solely an object of metaphysical speculation or, possibly, of investigation; while she hardly ever uttered the name of the Saviour, but spoke of him as _Somebody_. And I find that I must yet further interrupt the child herself to tell an anecdote about her which will perhaps help my reader to account for the fact I am about to finish telling. She was not three years old when she asked her mother, a sweet, thoughtful woman, in many ways superior to her husband, though not intellectually his equal--who made the tree in Wood Street? Her mother answered, of course, "God made it, my pet;" for by instinct, she never spoke of her God without using some term of endearment to her child. Mattie answered--"I would like it better if a man made it"--a cry after the humanity of God--a longing in the heart of the three years' child for the Messiah of God. Her mother did not know well enough to tell her that a man, yes, _the_ man did make them--"for by Him all things were made;"--but Mattie may have had some undefined glimmering of the fact, for, as I have said, she always substituted _Somebody_ for any name of the Lord. I cannot help wishing that certain religious people of my acquaintance would, I do not say follow queer little Mattie's example, but take a lesson from queer little Mattie. "He read about _somebody_ saying you shouldn't ask your friends and neighbors who could do the same for you again, but you should ask them that couldn't, because they hadn't a house to ask you to, like Poppie there." Lucy looked round and saw the most tattered little scarecrow--useless even as such in the streets of London, where there are only dusty little sparrows and an occasional raven--staring at--I cannot call it a group--well, it was a group vertically, if not laterally--and not knowing or caring what to make of it, only to look at Lucy, and satisfy her undefined and undefinable love by the beholding of its object. She loved what was lovely without in the least knowing that it was lovely, or what lovely meant. And while Lucy gazed at Poppie, with a vague impression that she had seen the child before, she could not help thinking of the contrast between the magnificent abode of the Morgensterns--for magnificent it was, even in London--and the lip of the nest from which the strange child preached down into the world the words "friends and neighbors."