_Mother._ And can you see the smoke in the wood before the wood is put
on the fire?
_Daughter._ No, mother, I am sure I cannot.
_Mother._ But you are sure that the smoke comes from the wood, are you
not?
_Daughter._ O yes, mother; I see it coming right out of the wood.
_Mother._ Then, my dear, I suppose you know that if there is something
in the wood and coal, which you call _smoke_, although you cannot see
it until it comes out, you can easily conceive how another thing, which
we call _heat_, can be in the wood and coal, which we cannot perceive
until it is made to come out.
_Daughter._ O yes, mother; how wonderful it is!
_Mother._ Yes, my dear, all the works of God are wonderful; and what is
very surprising is, that many of his most wonderful works are so common,
so continually before our eyes, that we do not deem them wonderful until
we have been made to think much about them, by talking about them, as
you and I have talked about the rain, and the clouds, and light, and its
colors.
_Daughter._ I have been thinking, mother, about Alice and the fire.
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