Instantly anxious that nothing of the kind should occur again, he
took the child softly in his arms, lifted him to his knees, and held him
gently to his bosom. An expression of supreme delight came over the
boy's face--a look of absolute contentment mingled with hope. He put his
thin hands together, palm to palm, as if saying his prayers, but lifted
his countenance to that of his father. His gaze, however, though not its
direction, was still to the infinite. And now his lips began to move,
and a murmur came from them, which grew into words audible. He was
indeed praying to his father, but a father closer to him than the one
upon whose knees he sat.
"Dear God," said the child--and before I blame the familiarity, I must
know that God is displeased with such address from the mouth of a child:
for this was not a taught prayer he neither meant nor felt--
"Dear God!" said the child, "I don't know what to do, for papa and
Corney, I am afraid, are both naughty. I would not say so to anybody but
you, God, for papa is your little boy as I am his little boy, and you
know all about it. I don't know what it is, and I think Corney must be
more to blame than my dear papa, but when he came home to-night he did
not go to papa, and papa did not go to him.
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