o remove the thread herself and decided
that the act would invoke criticism from her elders as a thing too
forward for a girl to do.

With a laugh that was bold now in its sheer merriment John took out his
pocket-knife, opened the blade, and managed to pick up the thread.

"Well, I reckon you are both tired and we are early to bed and early to
rise here," Whaley was saying. "You both know the way up-stairs."

There were no formal good-nights exchanged. The Whaleys withdrew to
their rooms on the ground floor and John and Cavanaugh went up the
stairs. John thought Cavanaugh would go straight into his room, but he
followed him into his and helped him find and light his lamp.

"I want to tell you something, my boy," he began, his eyes shifting back
and forth from John's face to the jagged flame of the small lamp. "I
want to get something out of me and be done with it. I made a regular
fool of myself there to-night."

"I don't understand," John said, in surprise.

"Well, I did," Cavanaugh went on, flushed, and in a voice that shook a
little. "That prayer of mine was the worst mixed-up mess I ever got off.
You see, I never have talked much religion to you boys down home, and as
far as I know none of you ever heard me pray out loud in public. Well,
I--somehow when I got down to-night I just got to thinking about what
_you_ thought--you see, I've heard you sneer at the belief I hold in
common with many others, and somehow to-night--well, I found that I was
thinking more about what you thought of me than what I was prepared to
say, and so I balled it all up. I can do first-rate in meeting at home,
but I slid from it to-night. Why, I almost heard Brother Whaley grunt
when I suddenly forgot what I started to say and switched off to
something else. Oh, I made a fool of myself! Now, really didn't you
think so?"

"I didn't hear what you were saying," John answered. "I wouldn't care if
I was you."

"Well, I _do_ care," Cavanaugh muttered. "If ever a man insulted his
God, I did mine to-night. I was reeling off a lot o' stuff, but not one
word of it was from the heart, and a prayer that don't come from the
heart ain't worth shucks. Mine wasn't much more than a song and dance
before the Throne, and I'm ashamed of it."

"I wouldn't care," John repeated, still absently.

"Well, I don't know as I do care much about what that old hard-shell
codger, or his wife that is just like him, thinks, but I do for that
little girl. My Lord!