In the old days a father built a home for his family. It was
complete in every part, but the altar around which they gathered
in prayer was not yet set in place. The mother wished it in
the kitchen; there she was perplexed with her many cares.
The father wished it in his study: God seemed nearer to him
among his books. The son wished it in the room where guests
were received, that the stranger entering might see that they
worshiped God. At last they agreed to leave the matter to the
youngest, who was a little child. Now the altar was a shaft of
polished wood, very fragrant, and the child, who loved most of
all to sit before the great fire and see beautiful forms in the
flames, said, “See, the fire-log is gone; put the altar there.”
So, because one would not yield to the other, they obeyed, and
the altar was consumed, while its sweet odors filled the whole
house--the kitchen, the study, and the guest hall--and the child
saw beautiful forms in the flames.--DAVID STARR JORDAN,
“The Religion of a Sensible American.”
(68)