"Why, Frank, how is this? You say that the only kind of prayer that will amount to anything is that prayer that comes right out of the heart, and that to pray such a prayer one must be converted. And now you say that one is converted through prayer. Now tell me, if this is true, how and where does a person get his start?" Not being a Christian himself, or ever having had the experience of salvation, Frank did not know how to unravel the tangle of thought that he had woven within Edwin's mind, and he was at a loss to know what to say. How easy it would have been for Mrs. Kauffman to help Edwin out of his difficulty had she known, but she was in her own home a short distance away burdened and sad. She had watched Edwin as he crossed the fields on his way to the home of her son and knew that they were smoking upon the porch. When the subject of prayer was dropped, Edwin told his friend that the farmer for whom he was working would soon be caught up with his work and that it would be necessary for him to look for a new place to work, and he asked Frank if he knew of any farmers who were needing help. As Edwin had expressed a desire to get into another neighborhood, if possible, for the experience, Frank said that his father-in-law, Mr. Miller, would be in need of hired men during harvest, and added, "If you wish, I will speak a good word in your behalf." Edwin expressed his gratitude for his friend's interest, and then after a few other remarks he arose to go. Before leaving, however, he emptied the contents of the red handkerchief out upon a piece of paper. Then, putting the handkerchief in his pocket, he bade his friend goodnight. It was a beautiful evening, but Edwin paid no attention to the stars as they gazed down upon him from above. He was thinking of his friend's words, and he said aloud: "To be converted must be the very thing for me and just what I need. But how am I to get converted, since I must pray and since I can not pray until I get converted?" The words taught him at the poorhouse came quickly to his mind, but he said sadly: "No, they won't do! Frank said that a prayer is words, but that the words must not be any that have been learned from any person or book. They must come right out of one's heart. What can it all mean?" And that night, for the first time in many years, the little prayer failed to bring him comfort before he closed his eyes in sleep. "O thou that hearest prayer, unto thee shall all flesh come" (Psa. 65: 2). CHAPTER XIV A PRAYER-MEETING Oh the precious privilege To the pious given, Sending by the dove of prayer Holy words to heaven! Arrows from the burning sun Cleave the quivering air; Swifter, loftier, surer on, Speeds the dove of prayer, Bearing from the parted lips Words of holy love, Warm as from the heart they gushed, To the throne above. --Mrs. Hale.