That evening’s reading suggested a thought to me.  The next evening I started for Mr. Gear’s to try if it were time, and to try the practicability of the plan it had developed in my mind.  Mr. Gear welcomed me cordially.  Mrs. Gear went off almost immediately on pretence of putting the children to bed, and left us two alone together.  I opened the conversation by handing her husband the volume of sermons and thanking him for it.

“What do you think of the sermon?” said he.

“I liked a great deal of it very much indeed,” said I.  “I believe you told me that you liked it.”

“Very much,” said he.  “I think its one of Theodore Parker’s ablest sermons.”

“And you believe in it?” said I interrogatively.

“With all my heart,” said he.  “Who can believe that the Great Infinite First Cause can be influenced, and his plans changed by the teasing of every one of his insignificant little creatures?”

“But the rest of the sermon,” said I.  “Do you believe that?”

Last Sunday Professor Strait preached for us.  He preached against what he called humanitarianism.  He said it was living without God; that there was very little difference between ignoring God and denying his existence, and that the humanitarians practically ignored him; that they believe only in men.

“It is not true,” said Mr. Gear, somewhat bitterly.  “You can see for yourself that it is not true.  Theodore Parker believes in prayer as much as Professor Strait.  I don’t believe but that he prayed as much.”

“And you agree with him?” said I, with a little affectation of surprise.

“Agree with him, Mr. Laicus!” said he, “of course I do.  There can be no true religion without prayer, without piety, without gratitude to God, without faith in Him.  Your Church has not the monopoly of faith in God, by any means, that it assumes to have.”

“And you really believe in prayer?” said I.

“Believe in prayer?  Why, of course I do.  Do you take me for a heathen?” replied he, with some irritation.

“And every night,” said I, “you kneel down and commend yourself to our Heavenly Father’s protection? and every morning you thank him for His watchfulness, and beseech divine strength from Him to meet the temptations of the day; and every day you gather your family about His throne, that you may teach your children to love and reverence the Father you delight to worship?”

There was a long pause.  Mr. Gear was evidently taken by surprise.  He made no answer; I pressed my advantage.

“How is it, my friend?” said I.

“Well, n—­no!” said he, “I can’t honestly say that I do.”

“You believe in prayer, and yet never pray,” said I, “is that it?”

“It is so much a matter of mere habit, Mr. Laicus,” said he, excusingly; “and I never was trained to pray.”

“All your lifelong,” said I, taking no heed of the excuse, “you have been receiving the goodness of God, and you never have had the courtesy to say so much as ‘thank you.’  All your lifelong you have been trespassing against Him, and never have begged his pardon, never asked his forgiveness.  Is it so?”