"How do you know that I do try?"
"My dear friend," said Theodore, tenderly, "how can I help knowing when I know so well the love of Christ for you, his yearning over you, and the fact that your mother's prayers are constantly going up for you, and yet that you still slight such love?"
"But how do you know that last to be a fact?"
"My dear Jim, if you were not you would be a praying man, a Christian."
"And I still ask, how do you know that I am not? Is my life so at variance with the principles of the gospel that you can not doubt it?"
Theodore turned eager, searching eyes upon his friend's face, and questioned tremulously:
"Are you a praying man, Jim?"
"I do hope and trust that I am."
The reply came in firm, clear tones, with a sort of undertone of solemn triumph in them; and Theodore rose suddenly, and going around to his side clasped hands with him in token of a new bond of fellowship, and his voice was husky as he said:
"My dear brother, forgive me for taking for granted that your position on this subject was unchanged because you did not choose to tell me so; but why did you not? Oh, if I could tell you how I have longed and prayed for this."