Harry Brown, Chief White Horse’s manly little son, stands by the font now. We came near making a bad mistake about Harry. The day that the minister had appointed to talk to the scholars who were to unite with the church was a crisp winter one, and the creek was covered with glittering ice. Harry went skating; almost the first chance he’d had since he left Dakota. There was no way to tell the time; he was having splendid fun. He stayed too long; when he came back it was too late for the meeting. The next day, when the minister kindly made an appointment for him by himself, one of the first questions he asked was, “Harry, do you pray?” “No.” “Not pray?” “No.” “Did you ever pray?” “Yes.” “And you don’t pray now?” “No.” “Why not?” And then Harry shut himself behind his Indian reserve and his inability to talk English, and didn’t say anything more. It certainly didn’t look as if he was far on the road to saint-ship. And yet if there was a boy in the school who was commending himself by his faithful, kind and manly conduct it was Harry Brown. What did it mean? The minister asked one of the teachers, with whom the boy might not be so shy, to try and find out. She dismissed the interpreter, who seemed to embarrass him, and all her questions were answered with thoughtfulness and earnestness till the old one came up, “Harry, the minister says you don’t pray?” Then came the same emphatic “_No_.” “Well, Harry, this isn’t a little thing you want to do. You are going to give yourself to God to be His child all your life, and you say you don’t pray to Him. It seems as if you didn’t care much about it. We think you had better wait till the next Communion Sunday, and be sure you mean what you are going to do.” “How long?” said Harry. “Two months.” “Too long. Can’t wait. Must come now,” said Harry decidedly. “How long have you been trying to do right, Harry?” “Two years.” Then I think Harry’s good angel put a thought into the teacher’s mind. “Harry, have you changed your room lately? Do you stay now with those seven boys up-stairs?” “Yes.” “Is that the reason you don’t pray? Are you ashamed?” “Yes.” “Doesn’t any boy in that room pray?” “Just one.” “Well, if you are going to be Christ’s soldier you have got to fight for Him sometimes when it’s hard. Will you pray to-night?” “Yes.” And knowing that older Christians had wavered before the same temptations, and not been more honest and brave in acknowledging it, we forebore to shut the boy away from the patient guidance and long suffering love which leads us all. A few weeks afterward we asked Harry one day when the interpreter was by, “Harry, do you pray now?” The little interpreter himself looked up with a quick, bright smile, “All we boys in that room pray now every night.” It was a good victory, surely, for the first one. God grant that each of those who are now confessing Christ be kept by Him in the temptations which will crowd them in the life to which they must go.