The years passed. Mr. Jasper was like a patriarch among us, revered and loved by all, his advice and friendship sought by young and old. He was a frequent guest in our home, and we loved him for his gentleness, with a reverence for his purity, and admired him for his wisdom. Our children ran to him on his entrance, often watching for him at the gate, sat upon his knees, clung to his neck, and made him their confidant, as he made them his companions and friends. I say our children, for there had come to us, two boys and a girl to the joy of our hearts and the delight of our home. There was one thing in them that lifted a burden from my life; they resembled their mother in complexion. Before they came, I was in an agony of fear lest they should bear upon their faces that Cain-like curse that had blasted my happiness and been my constant torment. I prayed, yes, I prayed day and night, pleading, beseeching God if He had the power that He would avert that terrible stain from these innocent ones. I reasoned with Him, begged for justice and mercy, that He would not let the sin of my father be visited upon them; that I had suffered enough and made sufficient atonement. I know that my wife also prayed for this, though she never hinted a word about it. She was too good and true a wife for that. Alas! What a sad thing for a father to pray that his children might not resemble himself! I have often felt a sting when people would say to a father, “How much your boys take after you!” I never had the pleasure of such a remark, but I had more, a profound satisfaction in knowing that my own dear children had not inherited that accursed brand of shame from their father to carry through their lives. Our prayers were answered. Whether by God or our mutual desires and ardent wishes, I would not assume to say, for having such a firm belief in God’s immutable, established laws, I am inclined to believe that we answered our own prayers, as most, if not all our prayers, are answered by ourselves. Prayers are most essential and are answered best when we give them life and reality by our practice. In our community we had our annoyances. What else could we expect when there were so many “taints of blood and defects of will?” These were endured as thorns among the roses, the fairer the flowers the less we thought of the thorns. But a great calamity and grief came upon us. Mr. Jasper fell ill. He knew it was unto death. He lingered for a few days, and every one went to receive his blessing. The shadow of a great cloud hung over us. Everybody spoke in whispers. Surely death is the king of terrors, as well as the terror of kings and of everybody. Death is terrible, anywhere and always, but infinitely so when we are watching, waiting, when one we love as part of ourselves is about to leave us, and start on that eternal unknown journey, “For none has ever returned to tell us of the road, Which to discover we must travel too.”