Tip wandered away into the woods for a little. When he returned the earth
was heaped up fresh and black over the new mound, and Johnny was left
underneath it all alone. Tip walked around it slowly, trying to take in
the thought that the baby was lying there; that they should never see him
again; trying, a moment after, to take in the thought that he was not
there at all, but had gone up to the beautiful world which the hymn told
about; then he thought of the chorus, and almost felt it.--"I long, I
long, I long to be there."

Tip had heard people pray; he had been to Sabbath school often enough to
catch and remember most of the words of the Lord's Prayer; he knew enough
of God to understand that He could hear prayer, and that His help must be
asked if one wanted to get to heaven. He hesitated a moment, glanced half
fearfully around him,--no one was there, no one but himself, and Johnny,
lying low at his feet, and God looking down upon him. Presently he knelt
down before the little grave, and began,--

"Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom
come"--Then he stopped. Tip was in earnest now; he did not understand
that prayer: he felt as though he was not saying what he meant. He
commenced again,--

"Oh, Jesus, I want"--Then he waited a minute. What did he want? "I want
to be different; I'm a wicked boy. I want to go where Johnny is when I
die. Do show me how!"

Did Jesus ever fail to hear such a prayer as that,--simple, earnest,
every word of it _felt? Never_--and He never will.

Tip rose up from that spot feeling that something was different. Ay, and