"Don't you remember the winter Billy's wife got religion?" she asked. "I don't know about telling a minister that; he might think that Blackwater was pretty stony soil. You see,"—she turned to Drew,—"the vessel Billy was in was long overdue, and folks were getting uneasy about her. There was a big revival that winter, and Billy's wife got to coming every night and going forward to the mourners' bench; and, first and last, a good many prayers were offered for her husband. Well, when everybody had about given him up, the vessel got in, with Billy safe and sound. That was the end of Maria's church-going. Finally the minister went around to find out why she had lost all her interest, and she told him. 'Mr. Snow,' she said, 'Billy wasn't in a bit of danger all the time we was a-praying for him. He said they didn't have wind enough to blow the smoke away from his galley stovepipe, and what we ought to have done was to pray for a gale of wind. That kind o' made me lose all faith in the deficiency of prayer.'"
"I suppose she thought that the good Lord could look out for folks at sea a good deal better than those who didn't know the circumstances," commented Captain March. "That doesn't sound unreasonable." His eyes twinkled as he looked at the minister.
"I fear there are many that have very queer notions about prayer," said Drew, smiling. "Once I heard a man pray: 'O Lord, keep us from burning the candle of life at both ends, and snuffing the ashes in thy face!' It was a little startling."
"It does sound a little familiar," admitted Mrs. March. "It's funny how free we can be with the Lord in our prayers, when, if we stood face to face with him, we wouldn't dare whisper a word or lift our eyes. I think a good many of us, if we ever do get to heaven, will feel more like hiding our faces than rejoicing when we think of some of the things we've prayed for. But maybe such people won't get there, after all." She spoke with so great an air of relief that the others laughed.
"Don't you want them to go, mother?" asked Hetty.
"Well, I don't think it's the place for folks who don't feel as though they are going to enjoy every bit of it, do you?" Mrs. March replied.
Hetty laughed uneasily, and glanced at the minister.
"Mother," she said, "aren't you afraid Mr. Drew will think you speak too lightly of sacred things? He doesn't know you as we do."
"Don't think me so narrow, please," Drew protested, smiling. "I hope I can distinguish between perfect frankness of character and irreverence."
Mrs. March looked from one to the other in silence, a trifle awed at the thought of herself in the rôle of blasphemer. Her confusion was only momentary, however.