"
"There is one thing about sunsets," returned Connie--"two things, that make
me rather sad--about themselves, not about anything else. Shall I tell you
them?"
"Do, my love. There are few things more precious to learn than the effects
of Nature upon individual minds. And there is not a feeling of yours, my
child, that is not of value to me."
"You are so kind, papa! I am so glad of my accident. I think I should never
have known how good you are but for that. But my thoughts seem so little
worth after you say so much about them."
"Let me be judge of that, my dear."
"Well, one thing is, that we shall never, never, never, see the same sunset
again."
"That is true. But why should we? God does not care to do the same thing
over again. When it is once done, it is done, and he goes on doing
something new. For, to all eternity, he never will have done showing
himself by new, fresh things. It would be a loss to do the same thing
again."
"But that just brings me to my second trouble. The thing is lost. I forget
it. Do what I can, I cannot remember sunsets. I try to fix them fast in my
memory, that I may recall them when I want them; but just as they fade out
of the sky, all into blue or gray, so they fade out of my mind and leave it
as if they had never been there--except perhaps two or three.
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