His effort to inspire the girl with Nature-worship, though crudely cast in
a fashion most likely to attract her, yet failed just then, and failed
ludicrously. Her mind comprehended barely enough to accept his idea in a
sense suggested by her acquaintance with fable, and when he instanced a
rabbit as an earthly manifestation of the Everlasting, she felt she could
cap the example from her own store of knowledge.

"I reckon I sees what you'm meanin', Mister Jan. Theer's things us calls
witch-hares in these paarts up-long. The higher-quarter people have seed
'em 'fore now; nothin' but siller bullets will kill 'em. They goes
loppettin' about down lawnly lanes on moonlight nights, an' they draws
folks arter 'em. But if you could kill wan of 'em 'tis said as they'd turn
into witches theer an' then. So you means that God A'-mighty' takes shaapes
sometimes same as they witches do, doan't 'e?"

"Not quite that, Joan. What I want you to know is that the great Being you
call God is nearer to you here, on Gorse Point, than in the Luke Gospelers'
meeting-house, and He takes greater delight in a bird's song than in all
your father's prayers and sermons put together. That is because the great
Being taught the bird to sing Himself, but He never taught your father to
pray."

"I dunnaw 'sackly what you means, Mister Jan, but I judges you ban't so
religious like as what faither is."

"Religion came from God to man, Joan, because man wanted it and couldn't
get on comfortably without it; but theology--if you know what that
means--man invented for himself. Religion is the light; theology is the
candlestick. Never quarrel with any man's candlestick as long as you can