“How come you’re not scared, then?”, asked Bertrand, the young boy with an old-fashioned name, a pair of glasses, and a frown on his face.

“I know my Dad will come help us.”, replied Isabelle, the young girl with brown hair, green eyes, and a light smile on her face.

“But what if he doesn’t? You can’t be certain he’ll come, you can’t be certain he’ll even find us.”

They were stuck near the top of an apple tree. They’d climbed up, and just as Bertrand had reached the top, with a helping hand from Isabelle, the branch he had stood on had snapped, and there was no way to climb down again safely. It was too high to jump, so the pair of kids was stuck sitting there for the time being.

If it wasn’t for Bertie’s incessant frightened questions, thought Isabelle, it would actually be quite peaceful up here. They had plenty to eat, as the apples had just ripened.

“Bertie, like I said, my Dad will come help us. I just know it.”

Bertrand was not satisfied: “No, Isabelle, you can’t know that. Think through the facts- He may have to stay back at work, he may forget to think of us because he’s busy, he may commit a crime and get put in prison-”

“My Dad wouldn’t commit a crime.”, said Isabelle.

“Fine then! He may break his ankle and end up in hospital, or worse…”

“My Dad will come help us. So just relax, okay?”

“How can I relax when I don’t have certainty???”, exclaimed Bertrand.

He was thinking about just how dense Isabelle must be, for her to not understand that she couldn’t possibly know her Dad will come. The indignation that was bubbling up helped him to get distracted from his fear, so he kept going:

“If one is to know something, one must have certainty. Even a child can understand that. Now to have certainty, the facts need to line up. And I have just pointed out to you how it is unlikely that they do, or will, and therefore, in conclusion, you cannot possibly know that your Dad will come help us!”

“Are you finished?”, Isabelle replied with a gracious smile.

“No! Besides, even if there’s nothing preventing your Dad from coming to help us, how do we know for certain that he even wants to?”

“My Dad loves me. He will come help us.”

“Ha! How do you know for certain that he loves you?”

“I know it. When I think of Dad I have a warm yellow feeling in my chest, the world looks brighter, I feel peaceful, relaxed, and happy.”

This struck a chord with Bertrand but he didn’t want to let on…

“Ha! Feelings, shmeelings! I repeat, you don’t know for certain that he’ll come, you don’t know for certain that he even cares. We’re still stuck up this tree with no hope of ever making it back down again. Unless we jump and break our legs, which I personally do not wish to attempt. So will you finally admit that I am right?”

“You’re scared, Bertie. That’s okay. We’re in a scary situation. But it’ll be okay. I know Dad will come and help us.”

At this, Bertrand made a “humph” noise and turned away from Isabelle in an indignant huff.

Several minutes passed like this.

Then, Isabelle spoke:

“I trust Dad. That’s why I know he loves me and I know he’ll come.”

Bertrand didn’t turn around, but he suddenly did not feel like he was in the right quite so much anymore. He sat, gazed at the hills on the horizon, and contemplated. Then a thought occurred to him, a thought which he thought might still help him win his argument:

“Fine then, you trust him… But has he proven without a shadow of a doubt that he is trustworthy? Can you know with certainty that he is to be trusted? I don’t think so.”

Isabelle just smiled back at him for a while, generously allowing him to bask in the brilliance of his intellect. She knew, without the need to gloat about it, that wisdom is often of more value than intelligence. She was a remarkably wise girl for her age, or perhaps because of her age.

After some time, she replied:

“If I already knew for certain that he was trustworthy, then I’d never get the chance to give him my trust. I don’t need to know for certain, I just get to trust him. I trust Dad. That’s why I know he loves me and I know he’ll come.”

And as she said those last words, Bertrand saw the figure of a man, rising over the crest of the hill, walking steadily towards them.

The man waved at them from afar.

Isabelle waved back. And so did Bertrand.