Time and years can never bring the day when you can say to your child: 'Soul, what have I to do with you ?'" Waldo said dreamingly: "It is a marvellous thing that one soul should have power to cause another." She heard the words as she heard the beating of the horses' hoofs; her thoughts ran on in their own line.
"They say, 'God sends the little babies.' Of all the dastardly revolting lies men tell to suit themselves, I hate that most.

I suppose my father said so when he knew he was dying of consumption, and my mother when she knew she had nothing to support me on, and they created me to feed like a dog from stranger hands.

Men do not say God sends the books, or the newspaper articles, or the machines they make; and then sigh, and shrug their shoulders and say they can't help it.

Why do they say so about other things?
Liars! 'God sends the little babies!'" She struck her foot fretfully against the splashboard.

"The small children say so earnestly.
They touch the little stranger reverently who has just come from God's far country, and they peep about the room to see if not one white feather has dropped from the wing of the angel that brought him.