‘My belief is,’ said Davidina, ‘that we can all believe what we want to believe; and if you only believe it enough, it comes true--for you, at any rate. You can believe every word of the Bible is true, or that every word of it is false; and either way, you can live up to it. The True Believers are right there, anyway. And if,’ she added, ‘you’ve got nothing else to believe, you can believe in yourself: and you can smile at yourself in the glass, and look at your teeth, and think they are milestones on the road to Heaven, till they all drop out. Believing’s easy; it’s choosing what you mean to believe that matters. I believe the kettle’s boiling over.’ She went, leaving Mr. Trimblerigg to his meditations, also to a doubt whether she had taken him quite seriously. With his Uncle Phineas it was all the other way; they were nothing if not serious together; but it often puzzled his ingenuous mind how his uncle managed to believe all the things he did. One day: ‘Uncle Phineas,’ he said, ‘how did you come to be a True Believer?’ ‘When I felt the need of conversion as a young man,’ replied Uncle Phineas, ‘I started reading the Scriptures. Every day, before I opened the book, I said, “Lord, help me to believe!” And by the time I’d read ’em three times through, I believed every word.’ ‘I’ve only read them twice yet,’ said Jonathan in meek admission, but glad to get hold of the excuse. ‘Read ’em again,’ said his uncle. ‘And all the genealogies, too, Uncle?’ he inquired, for all the world as though he felt genuinely committed to the task if the other should say ‘yes.’ ‘Why would you leave them out?’ queried his uncle. ‘It’s the sowing of the seed. When you sow a field, you’ve not to care about this grain or that, picking and choosing: it’s the sowing that matters. Sow your mind with the seed of the Word, and don’t leave gaps. You never know how you may come to need it hereafter. “Abram begat Isaac; and Isaac married Rebecca, and begat Jacob:”--that was the text the Lord showed me when He would have me choose a wife, whose name was Rebecca.’ He fetched a sigh. ‘And I did,’ he said. ‘She was a poor weak wife to me, and the children took after her; so now not one of them is left. It was the Lord’s will.’ ‘But if you had married some one else, wouldn’t it have been the Lord’s will too?’ inquired Jonathan. ‘That we won’t discuss,’ said his uncle. ‘I shouldn’t have chosen without first looking to Scripture. There was only one Rebecca in the village, and I hadn’t thought of her till then. ’Twas a marvellous showing, and she on a bed of sickness at the time.’ Mr. Trimblerigg was properly impressed; but he doubted whether he would choose his own wife that way, even should he become a True Believer. So, not to linger on doubtful ground, he changed the subject and began to ask about missionaries; having a wish to see the world, they attracted him.