CHAPTER XIII
PUZZLED ABOUT PRAYER
Heaven asks no surplice round the heart that feels,
And all is holy where devotion kneels.
—Holmes.
Edwin's distress of mind and his confusion of thought were greatly increased when, a few days after the vision in the field, there was another strange occurrence. The stones had not all been gathered into piles, but the work was progressing well, and when Edwin occasionally stopped in his work to note the appearance of the large field, he was pleased with what he had accomplished. The burden of his thought, however, was not the work nor the neatness of the place. Neither was it the beautiful scenery of slightly rolling country, the Christmas stories and legends connected with Blue Mountain, nor the ghost-stories and horrors in the home of the witch. Even the vision of eternity was a thing of the past.
"If only I knew! If only I could tell, before I die, on which of the roads I am traveling to eternity!" was the constant cry of his troubled soul. Once when these words had just escaped his lips, he suddenly heard a strange and rumbling sound that seemed to come from the very heart of the earth, and he felt the ground beneath his feet begin to shake. Unable to understand what had happened, Edwin hastened to the house, but the people there were as mystified as he himself, except that they said, "Surely it must have been an earthquake!" and some suggested that the end of the world might be near. With this bit of knowledge, Edwin returned to his work, but oh, how heavy was his heart!
"Why is it so hard," he cried, "to discover the secret that is causing me all this worry and trouble?" But the words had no sooner escaped his lips than he added, "There is and there must be some way to find out, and I'll keep on trying until I know that it is of no use to try."
Across the fields on a pretty knoll stood the humble little dwelling of Frank Kauffman and his wife, and as Edwin glanced occasionally in that direction, he wondered if his friend would be able to enlighten him about the earthquake, and he planned to visit him that very evening after supper.
Frank's home, although small, was always cozy and inviting; for Amanda, long before Frank married her, had been taught by her energetic, systematic mother, Mrs. Miller, the principles of good housekeeping. And Frank, although not a Christian, had been reared by a pious and devoted mother, who in all her ways endeavored to set before her children an example that she would not be ashamed to have them follow, and she was a woman who knew the value of prayer. For this reason Frank could easily talk on a few of the principles of religion; but when it came to the actual experiences, he was at a loss to know what to say.
But although Frank's mother was so noble and true, his father's goodness was only from a moral standpoint, and regardless of the evil effect that his smoking might have upon his three growing boys, he very much enjoyed his pipe. As a result of the father's indulgence, Frank and his two brothers, when scattered out in homes of their own, said, "Father smoked and seems none the worse for it, and I guess a little tobacco will not hurt us."