Courtland had never made toast in his life.  He abominated it.  She told him how to hold it up on a fork in front of the coals and he managed to do two very creditable slices.  He had forgotten his own supper now.  There was something quite fresh and original in the whole experience.  It would have been interesting to have told the boys, if there weren’t some features about it that were almost sacred.  He wondered what the gang would say when he told them about Wittemore!  Poor Wittemore!  He wasn’t as nutty as they had thought!  He had good in his heart!  Courtland poured the tea, but the sugar-paper had proved quite empty when he found it; likewise a plate that had once contained butter.

The toast and tea, however, seemed to be quite acceptable without its usual accessories.  “Now,” he said, with a long breath, “is there anything else you’d like done before I go?—­for I must be getting back to college.”

“If you just wouldn’t mind makin’ a prayer before you go,” responded the little old woman, wistfully, her feeble chin trembling with her boldness.  “I be’n wantin’ a prayer this long while, but I don’t seem to have good luck.  The distric’ nurse, she ain’t the prayin’ kind; an’ Mr. Widymer he says he don’t pray no more since he’s come to college.  He said it so kind of ashamed-like I didn’t like to bother him again; and there ain’t anybody else come my way for three months back.  You seem so kind-spoken and pleasant-like as if you might be related to a preacher, and I thought mebbe you wouldn’t mind just makin’ a little short prayer ’fore you go.  I dunno how long it’ll be ’fore I’ll get a chancet of one again.”

Courtland stood rooted to the floor in dismay.  “Why,—­I—­” he began, growing red enough to be apparent even by the flickering inch of candle.

Suddenly the room which had been so empty seemed to grow hushed and full of breathless spectators, and One, waiting to hear what he would say—­whether he would respond to the call.  Before his alarmed vision there came the memory of that wall of smoke which had shut him in, and that Voice calling him by name and saying, “You shall be shown.”  Was this what the Presence asked of him?  Was this that mysterious “doing His will” that the Book spoke about, which should presently give the assurance?

He saw the old woman’s face glow with eagerness.  It was as if the Presence waited through her eyes to see what he would do.  Something leaped up in his heart in response and he took a step forward and dropped upon his knees beside the old wooden chair.

“I’m afraid I shall make a worse bungle of it than I did of the toast,” he said, as he saw her folding her hands with delight.  She smiled with serene assurance, and he closed his eyes and wondered where were words to use in such a time as this.

“Now I lay me” would not do for the poor creature who had been lying down many days and might never rise again; “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John” was more appropriate, but there was that uncertainty about it being a prayer at all.  “Our Father”—­Ah!  He caught at the words and spoke them.