Walter and Frank exchanged glances.
“I think myself we might be at better business,” remarked the one.
“That’s so!” assented the other, and they, too, withdrew to the next room.
Max had taken a tiny volume from his pocket and was seated near the light, reading.
“What have you there, old fellow?” asked Frank, stepping to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder, and bending down to look. “A Testament, I declare!”
The tone expressed astonishment, not unmixed with derision.
Max’s cheek flushed again, but he replied without hesitation, and in his usual pleasant tones, “Yes, I promised papa I would always read at least one verse before going to bed at night.”
“And say your prayers, too, I suppose?”
Max felt very much as if he were called to march up to the cannon’s mouth, as a glance showed him that not Frank only, but the other two boys also, were standing regarding him with mingled curiosity and amusement. His heart quailed for a moment, but the remembrance of what his father had once told him of his having to pass through such ordeals in his youthful days, gave him courage to emulate that father’s example and stand to his colors in spite of the ridicule that seemed so hard to face.
“And God’s eye is on me, his ear open to hear what I say,” was the next thought; “I will not dishonor either my earthly or my heavenly father.”