Guy didn’t know very much experimentally about praying, and so he did not respond, but he thought of Lucy Atherstone, whose life was one act of prayer and praise, and he wished _she_ could know of Maddy, and join her petitions with those of the grandfather. Starting suddenly from his chair, he exclaimed, “I’m going down there. I cannot endure to sit here doing nothing to make amends. It will look queer, too, to go alone. Ah, I have it! I’ll drive back to Aikenside for Jessie, who has talked so much of the girl that her mother, forgetting that _she_ was once a teacher, is disgusted. Yes, I’ll take Jessie with me, but _you_ must order it; you must say it is good for her to ride, and, Hal, give me some medicine for her, just to quiet Agnes, no matter what, provided it is not _strychnine_.” Contrary to Guy’s expectations, Agnes did not refuse to let Jessie go for a ride, and the little girl was soon seated by her brother’s side, chatting merrily of the different things they passed upon the road. But when Guy told her where they were going, and why they were going there, the tears came at once into her eyes, and hiding her face in Guy’s lap she sobbed bitterly. “I did like her so much that day,” she said, “and one looked so sorry, too. It’s terrible to die!” Then she plied Guy with questions, concerning Maddy’s probable future. “Would she go to heaven, _sure_?” and when Guy answered at random, “_Yes_,” she asked, “_How_ did he _know_? Had he heard that Maddy was that kind of _good_ which lets people in heaven? Because, brother Guy,” and the little preacher nestled closely to the young man, fingering his coat buttons as she talked, “because, brother Guy, folks can be good—that is, not do naughty things—and still God won’t love them unless they—I don’t exactly know what, I wish I did.” Guy drew her closer to him, but to that childish yearning for knowledge he could not respond, so he said: “Who taught you all this, little one?—not your mother, surely.” “No, not mamma, but Miriam, the waiting-maid we left in Boston. She told me about it, and taught me to pray different from mamma, who sometimes keeps her eyes open in church when she is on her knees, and looks at the bonnets near us. Do you pray, brother Guy?” The question startled the young man, who did not know what to answer, and who was glad that his coachman spoke to him just then, asking if he should drive through Devonshire village, or go direct to Honedale by a shorter route.