Reuben laughed a bitter laugh,—a laugh that made his father shudder.
"Sit down with me now, Reuben, and read a chapter in God's word; and after it we will pray for His help."
"There it is again!" the boy had replied. "I knew it would come to that!"
"And do you refuse, Reuben?"
"No, Sir, I don't, because I know it wouldn't be any use; for if I did, I should have to go up stairs and mope in my chamber, and have Aunt Eliza staring in upon me as if I was a murderer. But I sha'n't know what you read five minutes after."
"My son, don't you know that will be an offence against God?"
"I can't help it."
"You can help it, my son!—you can!"
And at this the Doctor, in an agony of spirit, (the boy recalled it perfectly,) had risen and paced back and forth in his study; then, after a little, threw himself upon his knees near to Reuben, and prayed silently, with his hands clasped.
The boy had melted somewhat at this, and still more when the father rose with traces of a tear in his eye.