Then Eagle Eye talked again and said, “The Evil Spirit, the Devil, paints all sin pretty, boys, but sin is bad. All sin is bad, and only Jesus can save from sin. You boys pray for my people. Too many of them are learning to drink the white man’s whiskey.” Well, the story was finished, and Barry wasn’t back yet, to take charge of the last part of our campfire meeting, so I knew Big Jim would have to do it. It was what we called Prayer Time, and just before somebody was supposed to lead us in an outloud prayer, the leader asked questions around the circle, if any of us had anything or anybody we wanted prayer for. So Big Jim took charge and started by saying he wanted us to pray for Big Jim himself, ’cause some day he might want to be a missionary; Circus was next in the circle, so he spoke up and said, “Everybody thank the Lord for saving my dad from being a drunkard.” The very minute he said it, I was both sad and glad, and looked quick at Tom Till who was still staring into the fire, with his fists doubled up. Dragonfly was next, and he said, “Pray for my mother.” Poetry frowned, trying to think, then said, “For new mission hospitals to be built in foreign countries, like Africa and Cuba and other places,” and when he said Cuba, his and my eyes met and I knew what else he was thinking about. It was Tom Till’s turn next, but he sat with his head down and was looking at his doubled-up fists. I could see he was afraid to say a word for fear his voice would break and he’d cry, so Big Jim skipped him and it was Little Jim’s turn. He piped up from beside me and said in his mouse-like voice, “Everybody pray for Shorty Long back home.” I certainly was surprised, ’cause Shorty Long was the new tough guy who had moved into Sugar Creek territory last winter and had started coming to our school and had caused a terrible lot of trouble for the gang. But that was like Little Jim, praying for something like that. Next it was my turn. I’d been thinking all the time while the different requests were being made, and hadn’t decided yet just what to ask for, but all of a sudden I remembered something my red-haired bushy-eyebrowed, reddish-brown-mustashed pop prays for, when he asks the blessing at our table at the house, and so I said, “Pray for all the broken-hearted people in the world,” only when Pop prays he always adds, “For a broken and a contrite heart, O Lord, thou wilt not despise.”