And covering his face with his hands, he lifted up his heart in prayer. As he prayed, a heavenly peace seemed to pervade his whole being. It stole upon him so gently and unexpectedly, that 108 he felt like shouting praises to God; and at last, unable to keep his marvellous happiness to himself, he called, softly,–
“Mother, mother!”
“What do you wish, my son?” she asked, always ready to answer her children’s calls.
“O, mother,” he replied, “I have been struggling and praying, and I’ve got the victory.”
Instantly she was kneeling on the rough floor by his side,–she understood him,–and tears of grateful joy ran down her face, and she said,–
“It is as I would have it, Tom. God has taken you up, and all will be well.”
Next morning Tom arose with a peaceful, serious face. His mother did not allude to the happy change that had transpired within him during the night, but as she busied herself about breakfast, she would occasionally wipe away the tears, for her heart was full.
“Mother,” said he, as they finished their frugal meal, “I’ve been thinking it would be a good plan to get up all the wood we can while the weather is pleasant. Winter’ll be coming along by and by, and it’ll be so nice to have a warm fire all the time then, and not have to wade through the snow after something to burn.”
“Yes,” she replied, “we have not had our Indian summer yet; and while that lasts we shall 109 use but little fuel, and if you and the children are smart, you can get quite a pile ahead.”
“Why is the beautiful spell we have in fall called Indian summer?” he asked.