‘Well, I had; but I don’t know if you would like it.’
‘What did you think of, then?’
‘I thought of a chapter in the New Testament.’
‘How could you think I should not like that?’
‘Because I never saw you say your prayers.’
‘That is quite true. But you don’t think I never say my prayers, although you never see me do it?’
The fact was, my uncle, amongst his other peculiarities, did not approve of teaching children to say their prayers. But he did not therefore leave me without instruction in the matter of praying—either the idlest or the most availing of human actions. He would say, ‘When you want anything, ask for it, Willie; and if it is worth your having, you will have it. But don’t fancy you are doing God any service by praying to him. He likes you to pray to him because he loves you, and wants you to love him. And whatever you do, don’t go saying a lot of words you don’t mean. If you think you ought to pray, say your Lord’s Prayer, and have done with it.’ I had no theory myself on the matter; but when I was in misery on the wild mountains, I had indeed prayed to God; and had even gone so far as to hope, when I got what I prayed for, that he had heard my prayer.
Charley made no reply.
‘It seems to me better that sort of thing shouldn’t be seen, Charley,’ I persisted.
‘Perhaps, Wilfrid; but I was taught to say my prayers regularly.’ ‘I don’t think much of that either,’ I answered. ‘But I’ve said a good many prayers since I’ve been here, Charley. I can’t say I’m sure it’s of any use, but I can’t help trying after something—I don’t know what—something I want, and don’t know how to get.’