Nathan laid over on the rain-wet grass and hid his face in his hands. After a time he sat up and asked as men ask after drifting for weeks on an open sea:
“Billy, do you suppose it would do any good to pray?”
I considered this.
“Yes,” I said devoutly, relievedly; “let’s pray about it!”
“Who’ll pray, Billy, you or me? You pray!”
“No—you!” I argued. “You did the kissin’!”
“All right,” said Nathan brokenly. “But what’ll I say?”
“I’d ask God first to forgive the sin of it. Then I’d beseech Him to show us a way out—because we’re sorry—terribly sorry—and a way out is what we need most.”
Again Nathan considered, ashen-faced, biting his nails until the blood came. Then two distraught boys, hatless, their clothing bedaubed and briar-torn, facing the most hideous dilemma thus far in their lives, knelt in the shower-washed alders. Earnestly they besought aid from the giver of every good and perfect gift.
“Oh, God,” prayed Nathan, “we have sinned—we have sinned—against heaven and against Thee. Lord, we have kissed—we have kissed—no, I have kissed—a g-g-girl—and her father, Mr. Caleb M. Gridley, who runs the tannery here in Paris—he caught us!”