“Oh,” I said, “I see that.  But if I set about providing myself with breakfast, I know exactly what I want, and have a very fair chance of obtaining it.  But the essence of prayer is that you must not expect to get your desires fulfilled.”

“I certainly do not pretend,” said he, “that prayer is a mechanical method of getting things; it isn’t a substitute for effort and action.  Nor do I think that God simply withholds things unless you ask for them, as a dog has to beg for a piece of biscuit.  I don’t look upon prayer as the mere formulating of a list of requests; and I dislike very much the way some good people have of getting a large number of men and women to pray for the same thing, as if you were canvassing for votes.  And yet I believe that prayers have a way of being granted.  Indeed, I think that both the strength and the danger of prayer lies in the fact that people do very much tend to get what they have set their hearts upon.  A recurrent prayer for a definite thing is often a sign that a man is working hard to secure it.  It is rather perilous to desire definite things too definitely, not because you are disappointed, but because you are often successful in attaining them.”

“Then that would be a reason for not praying,” I said.

Father Payne gave one of his little frowns, which I knew well.  “I’m not arguing for the sake of arguing, Father,” I said; “I really want to understand.  It seems to me such a muddle.”

The little frown passed off in a smile.  “Yes, it isn’t a wholly rational thing,” said Father Payne, “but it’s a natural and instinctive thing.  To forbid prayer seems to me like forbidding hope and love.  Prayer seems to me just a mingling of hope and desire and love and confidence.  It is more like talking over your plans and desires with God.  It all depends upon whether you say, ‘My will be done,’ which is the wrong sort of prayer, or ’Thy will be done,’ which is the right sort of prayer, and infinitely harder.  I don’t mind telling you this, that my prayers are an attempt to put myself in touch with the Spirit of God.  I believe in God; I believe that He is trying very hard to bring men and women to live in a certain way—­the right, joyful, beautiful way.  He sees it clearly enough; but we are so tangled up with material things that we don’t see it clearly—­we don’t see where our happiness lies; we mistake all kinds of things—­pleasures, schemes, successes, comforts, desires—­for happiness; and prayer seems to me like opening a sluice and letting a clear stream gush through.  That’s why I believe one must set oneself to it.  The sluice is not always open—­we are lazy, cowardly, timid; or again, we are confident, self-satisfied, proud of our own inventiveness and resourcefulness.  I don’t know what the will is or what its limitations are; but I believe it has a degree of liberty, and it can exercise that liberty in welcoming God.  Of course, if we think of God as drearily moral, harsh, full