‘It seems to make a differ--my going away to London, although I’ve not been much at home all these months. I was so close at Lindum, an’ I could think of home, even when I was at office-work or classes, or the rest. It won’t be the same when I’m at Westminster, in that big place o’ business where there’s so much to do--now that t’ home ’ll be gone, an’ mother’s weak an’ poorly, an’ ye’ll be livin’ wi’ her an’ Mr Lee. It’s cut me a deal too, to be thinkin’ about father--they say he’s real silly sin’ his illness, an’ll not be himsel’ again--he’ll have to be allays in some kind o’ keepin’, although they don’t think as he’ll be dangerous. I’m thinkin’--I’m his son--I felt desperate last winter--it wouldn’t ha’ ta’en much to make me drink like him. It makes me afraid to go away to London--afraid like and sorry when I think what last year has been.’ ‘Nat,’ said Annie suddenly, ‘I mind me of a day when Alice took me to be with her at a class--it’s been on my mind sin’, the confessin’ an’ t’ prayin’, an’ then t’ hymn-singin’ an’ all t’ rest of it. You an’ me’s both sorry .... I think that we are sorry .... shall we kneel down together an’ say a prayer to-night?’ ‘I’d like to,’ he answered, readily enough, ‘only I don’t understan’ what sort o’ prayer to say. We can’t make up prayers like as t’ preachers do. An’ t’ prayer-books is all together at t’ church. There’s the General Confession,’ he added, as a new idea struck him; ‘we’ve heard that often, I should think we remember it. It’s all about being sorry, an’ doin’ better, an’ t’ like. I should think it’s possible that it might do for us.’ ‘Then we’ll have it,’ said Annie, agreeing readily, ‘we’ll kneel down together side by side upon the rug. You may say the words first as if you was t’ preacher, an’ I’ll be repeatin’ them as t’ people do. It’ll do me good .... I’m sure I’ve been bad eno’ .... it’ll maybe make my heart a bit lighter that’s such a weight to me.’ They arranged a chair, and knelt by it side by side, the brother and sister, still so young in years, and yet with such evident traces of recent trouble that their young faces had assumed an older look. Nat’s features were already in the transition-time, and some of the charm of his boyish grace was gone; but Annie was yet more lovely than before, though her illness had left her pale and delicate; and the black dress that hung so loosely on her figure set off the bright hair which had not yet a widow’s cap. They knelt together with their clasped hands almost touching, and after a pause of a minute Nat began; the simple gravity of his boyish earnestness breathing as with new meaning the familiar words: ‘_Almighty and most merciful Father; we have erred, and strayed from Thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts. We have offended against Thy holy laws...._’