"Yes," said Edward; "I didn't know--I mean I didn't think"-- "You didn't think I had learned to pray, perhaps. Thank God, I have." Then he laid his hand kindly on Edward's shoulder. "Have _you_ learned that precious lesson yet, my friend?" "Yes," said Edward softly; "a good while ago." "I am very glad; you will never learn anything else that is quite so important. What is all the study for, by the way? Have you any plans.'" "Yes," said Edward, astonished at what he was about to tell to a stranger; "I want to get an education, and then, if I possibly _can_ do that, I want to be a minister." Ray's hand fell from his shoulder, and when he answered this, his voice was low and a little sad: "God bless you, and help you. I hope you will never have to give it up." Edward made up his mind that night that a prig meant the best and kindest,--yes, and the wisest young man in the world. CHAPTER XXIV. "Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." The long, bright summer days and the glowing autumn days were gone; mid-winter was upon them. During all this time Edward was hard at work; there was plenty of business to be done at the store. He had been promoted; very rarely, now-a-days, was he called on to carry home purchases, or to do errands. He had his counter and his favourite customers. There had been another change, too, which Edward felt sure Ray had had a hand in; Ray had a hand in everything that was good and thoughtful. He had long evenings for study now; he came up to dinner with Mr. Minturn at six o'clock, and had no further work to do until the next day. Oh, those long evenings! What rapid progress he made! what a teacher Ray was! Could a boy help getting on who was so carefully and kindly led? What was _not_ Ray to him?--teacher, friend, brother; constant, unfailing, loving guide. Edward was learning to love him with an almost worship. Meantime, every one saw better than did Edward himself how he had changed. He had not been in constant intercourse with a Christian family, who lived their religion every day and every hour, for nothing; his improvement had been constant and rapid. He came home from the post office one evening with his hands full of letters, among them a very queer-looking one for himself. He carried the others to the library, and his own to his room. Such an odd letter as it was! He was glad it was his business to get the mail, and that none of the other clerks had seen this, with his name written at the very top of the envelope, and written "Tip" at that. How oddly it looked, and how queerly it sounded when he said it over! It was so long since he heard that name, he never wanted to again. He was glad that Ray Minturn had never called him Tip, nor heard him called so. Who could it be from? Nobody wrote to him except Kitty, and once in a long while his mother; but this was no home-letter. At last he broke the seal, and read:--