Felix and I spoke not. Disappointment, and something worse, sealed our speech. DID God look like that--like that stern, angrily frowning old man with the tossing hair and beard of the wood-cut Cecily held. “I suppose He must, since that is His picture,” said Dan miserably. “He looks awful cross,” said Peter simply. “Oh, I wish we’d never, never seen it,” cried Cecily. We all wished that--too late. Our curiosity had led us into some Holy of Holies, not to be profaned by human eyes, and this was our punishment. “I’ve always had a feeling right along,” wept Sara, “that it wasn’t RIGHT to buy--or LOOK AT--God’s picture.” As we stood there wretchedly we heard flying feet below and a blithe voice calling, “Where are you, children?” The Story Girl had returned! At any other moment we would have rushed to meet her in wild joy. But now we were too crushed and miserable to move. “Whatever is the matter with you all?” demanded the Story Girl, appearing at the top of the stairs. “What is Sara crying about? What have you got there?” “A picture of God,” said Cecily with a sob in her voice, “and oh, it is so dreadful and ugly. Look!” The Story Girl looked. An expression of scorn came over her face. “Surely you don’t believe God looks like that,” she said impatiently, while her fine eyes flashed. “He doesn’t--He couldn’t. He is wonderful and beautiful. I’m surprised at you. THAT is nothing but the picture of a cross old man.” Hope sprang up in our hearts, although we were not wholly convinced. “I don’t know,” said Dan dubiously. “It says under the picture ‘God in the Garden of Eden.’ It’s PRINTED.” “Well, I suppose that’s what the man who drew it thought God was like,” answered the Story Girl carelessly. “But HE couldn’t have known any more than you do. HE had never seen Him.” “It’s all very well for you to say so,” said Felicity, “but YOU don’t know either. I wish I could believe that isn’t like God--but I don’t know what to believe.” “Well, if you won’t believe me, I suppose you’ll believe the minister,” said the Story Girl. “Go and ask him. He’s in the house this very minute. He came up with us in the buggy.” At any other time we would never have dared catechize the minister about anything. But desperate cases call for desperate measures. We drew straws to see who should go and do the asking, and the lot fell to Felix. “Better wait until Mr. Marwood leaves, and catch him in the lane,” advised the Story Girl. “You’ll have a lot of grown-ups around you in the house.” Felix took her advice. Mr. Marwood, presently walking benignantly along the lane, was confronted by a fat, small boy with a pale face but resolute eyes. The rest of us remained in the background but within hearing. “Well, Felix, what is it?” asked Mr. Marwood kindly. “Please, sir, does God really look like this?” asked Felix, holding out the picture. “We hope He doesn’t--but we want to know the truth, and that is why I’m bothering you. Please excuse us and tell me.”