the family altar. "Come," said Fred, "mother says you and I are going
to be bedfellows," and I followed him up two pair of stairs to a nice
little chamber which he called his room; and he opened a drawer and
showed me a box, and boat, and knives, and powder-horn, and all his
treasures, and told me a world of new things about what the boys did
there. He undressed first and jumped into bed. I was much longer about
it, for a new set of thoughts began to rise in my mind.

When my mother put my portmanteau into my hand, just before the coach
started, she said tenderly, in a low tone, "Remember, Robert, that you
are a Christian boy." I knew very well what that meant, and I had now
just come to a point of time when her words were to be minded. At home
I was taught the duties of a Christian child; abroad I must not
neglect them, and one of these was evening prayer. From a very little
boy I had been in the habit of kneeling and asking the forgiveness of
God, for Jesus' sake, acknowledging his mercies, and seeking his
protection and blessing.

"Why don't you come to bed, Robert?" cried Fred. "What are you sitting
there for?" I was afraid to pray, and afraid not to pray. It seemed
that I could not kneel down and pray before Fred. What would he say?
Would he not laugh? The fear of Fred made me a coward. Yet I could not
lie down on a prayerless bed. If I needed the protection of my
heavenly Father at home, how much more abroad. I wished many wishes;
that I had slept alone, that Fred would go to sleep, or something
else, I hardly knew what. But Fred would not go to sleep.

Perhaps struggles like these take place in the bosom of every one when
he leaves home and begins to act for himself, and on his decision may
depend his character for time, and for eternity. With me the struggle