was the home of a tiny lad named John. It was a happy home; for both
his parents were living, and the love that bound their hearts together
brought peace and happiness to each member of the little household. But
could this happy group have known of the presence of a grim monster just
outside the door, who at that very moment was seeking an entrance, their
joy would have given place to sorrow. Death was soon to destroy the
light and comfort of that home. The devoted wife and mother was not
strong; and after a severe illness lasting but a few short days, her
spirit left the ones she loved and her lifeless body was carried to
its last resting place in the cemetery a few miles away.

Little John was, of course, too young to realize the true meaning of the
change; but that something dreadful had happened he very well knew, and
his large pathetic eyes spoke the grief that he did understand and could
not express. During the three years of his short life he had known the
care of a tender, loving mother, whose ambitions were high and noble.
Although not a Christian, she had often expressed her wish that her
little brown-eyed boy might grow up to be an honor to his father and
mother, and a blessing to his country. After her death his papa's eyes
were often filled with tears, for he loved and pitied his little boy.

One evening when the lights were dim and the hands of the clock were
pointing to the bedtime hour, John felt his father's arms tenderly
encircled about him and heard him softly saying: "My little John, we are
left all alone now, and you must hurry up and become a man as soon as
you can; for I need you to help me. Mama has gone away and left us, and
she cannot teach you the things that she had planned that you should
know; so we will have to do the best that we can, but you must help me.
First of all, I want you to learn how to pray; for there is a God in
heaven, who made you, and of whom your mother expected to tell you.