“Walter,” said Charlie, putting his arm around the boy, and drawing his head on to his breast, “how do you like this spot?”
“I think it is most beautiful. I could sit here all night and listen to that waterfall, and watch the moonbeams glancing on the water.”
“The first time I ever saw this place, I came here alone, on very much such a night as this. I loved it then, and have loved it more and more ever since. I shall miss you very much, Walter; only think how many Sabbath days we’ve sat side by side in meeting; I hope there’s some good come of it all. Walter, do you ever pray?”
There was no reply, but a tear fell on Charlie’s hand; at length he said, “No, sir; I never did.”
“But you say the Lord’s Prayer?”
“No, sir.”
“Didn’t your mother learn you to say it when a child?”
“No, sir; there ain’t any goodness in our folks; we are a hard, rough set; ain’t like other people; only think about wrestling, shooting, and falling timber. When Joe became religious, he wanted to have prayers Sabbath night; but father wouldn’t hear to it. Now he’s got a house of his own, he can do as he likes.”
“But you are not a rough, thoughtless boy, Walter; you are a gentle, loving boy, and you think; all the Griffin there is in you, is on the outside; you love the woods, flowers, the waters, and this beautiful spot touches you, just as it does me.”