You can pray, that _I'm_ sure; any way, you promised, and I trusted you." Bob followed him through the hall, up the stairs, to his neat little room, and whistled "Hail, Columbia," while he lighted a match and turned on the gas.
"My! you have things in style here, don't you ?" he said, looking around, while the bright light gleamed over the pretty carpet and shining furniture.
"Yes," said Edward; "everything in this house is in style.

Bob, it's half-past eight." "Well," Bob said good-naturedly, "I'd like to know what I'm to do; this is new business to me, you see." "I'm going to kneel down here and pray for you, and you promised to do the same." Edward knelt at his bedside, and Bob, half laughing, followed his example.

But Christ must have been praying too, and putting words into Edward's heart to say.

By and by, in spite of himself, Bob had to put up his hand and dash away a tear or two.

He had never heard himself prayed for before.
That evening was one to be remembered by Bob Turner, for more than one reason.