It was the beginning of vacation when Mr. Davis, a friend of my father,
came to see us, and asked to let me go home with him. I was much pleased
with the thought of going out of town.
The journey was delightful, and when we reached Mr. Davis's house
everything looked as if I were going to have a fine time. Fred Davis, a
boy about my own age, took me cordially by the hand, and all the family
soon seemed like old friends.
"This is going to be a vacation worth having," I said to myself several
times during the evening, as we all played games, told riddles, and
laughed and chatted merrily.
At last Mrs. Davis said it was almost bedtime. Then I expected family
prayers, but we were very soon directed to our chambers. How strange it
seemed to me, for I had never before been in a household without the
family altar.
"Come," said Fred, "mother says you and I are going to be bed fellows,"
and I followed him up two pair of stairs to a nice little chamber which
he called his room. He opened a drawer and showed me a box, and boat,
and knives, and powderhorn, and all his treasures, and told me a world
of new things about what the boys did there.
Then 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 purse into my hand, just before the train 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 boy 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
was severe.
[Illustration: "_I will kneel down and pray first_."]
At last, to Fred's cry, "Come, boy, come to bed," I mustered courage to
say, "I will kneel down and pray first; that is always my custom."
"Pray?" said Fred, turning himself over on his pillow and saying no
more.
His propriety of conduct made me ashamed. Here I had long been afraid of
him, and yet when he knew my wishes, he was quiet and left me to myself.
How thankful I was that duty and conscience triumphed.
That settled my future course. It gave me strength for time to come. I
believe that the decision of the "Christian boy," by God's blessing,
made me a Christian man; for in after years I was thrown amid trials
and temptations which must have drawn me away from God and from virtue,
had it not been for my settled habit of secret prayer.
Let every boy who has pious parents, read and think about this. You have
been trained in Christian duties and principles. When you go from home,
do not leave them behind.
Carry them with you, and stand by them; then, in weakness and
temptation, by the help of God, they will stand by you.
Take your place like a man, on the side of your God and Saviour, of your
mother's God and Saviour, and of your father's God.
It is by a failure to do this, that so many boys go astray, and grow up
to be young men dishonoring their parents, without hope and without God
in the world.
* * * * *
Ashamed of Jesus! that dear friend,
On whom my hopes of heaven depend?
No; when I blush, be this my shame,
That I no more revere His name.
Ashamed of Jesus! yes, I may,
When I've no guilt to wash away,
No tears to wipe, no good to crave,
No fears to quell, no soul to save.
[Illustration: "_Herbert closed his book and began playing with some
marbles_."]