"When did all that happen?"
"A few weeks ago, when the revival was, you know. He got up one night and asked them to pray for him, and now he almost always speaks or prays in the meetings."
"Well," said Mr. Lewis, after a pause, and with a little sigh, "I'm sure I ain't sorry. I only hope it will last; he needed it as bad as any one I know of."
"It will last," Tip said, speaking positively. "God will look out for that."
Then he waited a little before he spoke again—but he had been praying for his father long enough and earnestly enough to feel bold:
"I thought, last night, that you must have been pretty good friends once," he said presently, "for he most broke down when he was praying for you, and the tears just blinded him."
Mr. Lewis turned himself on his pillow, and looked steadily at his son. "Did Mr. Bailey pray for me?" he asked at last.
"Yes, he did; and he prayed as if he meant it."
"How came he to?"
"Why, I asked 'em to—all the folks in meeting, you know. I wanted you to be a Christian, and prayed for you, and then I asked them if they'd pray, and Mr. Bailey got right up. You don't mind that, do you, father? All the folks down there ask us to pray for their friends."