I thought I could see an improvement in
her already. Certainly she looked very happy.
"O, papa!" she said, "isn't it delightful?"
"What is, my dear?"
"O, everything. The wind, and the sky, and the sea, and the smell of
the flowers. Do look at that sea-bird. His wings are like the barb of a
terrible arrow. How he goes undulating, neck and body, up and down as he
flies. I never felt before that a bird moves his wings. It always looked as
if the wings flew with the bird. But I see the effort in him."
"An easy effort, though, I should certainly think."
"No doubt. But I see that he chooses and means to fly, and so does it. It
makes one almost reconciled to the idea of wings. Do angels really have
wings, papa?"
"It is generally so represented, I think, in the Bible. But whether it is
meant as a natural fact about them, is more than I take upon me to decide.
For one thing, I should have to examine whether in simple narrative they
are ever represented with them, as, I think, in records of visions they are
never represented without them. But wings are very beautiful things, and I
do not exactly see why you should need reconciling to them.
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