She sat thinking for a few minutes, and then said to herself, "He's up to some mischief again, I'll warrant. He always is when he's still."
She went out, softly, and stood behind the barn door. She could not see him, and was just about to call his name, "Oscar! Oscar!" when she heard his voice.
He was beginning his prayer.
I think no mother was ever more astonished at what she heard. She held her breath to listen. Could it be her wicked boy asking God to help him to be good, and praying for her, too?
She covered her face with her apron, and began to sob. Oscar heard her and ran out.
"O ma!" he cried. "You may lick me, if you want to; but I am sorry I was naughty. O ma! I like trying to be good. I guess God is going to help me. Don't you?"
Instead of answering, Mrs. Russel threw her arms round her boy's neck, and kissed him ever so many times.
"I heard you praying," she said, at last; "and for me, too. O Oscar! I used to pray; but I forgot it years ago. We'll try to be good together; and you shall have some new clothes, and we'll all go to church. You know Mrs. Monson said we ought. I'm sure your pa will be willing when he knows what's making you so different."
I wish you could have seen Oscar that afternoon! His face was full of smiles. He was very happy. When his mother said her wood was too large for her stove, he went out and split quite a pile of it for her, whistling all the time.
Toward night he sat on the front step, trying to spell out some words in a book Charley gave him, when Mr. Monson's carriage drove slowly toward the gate. Charley was inside, and Oscar heard him say,—