'
I thought I should like her always to say the prayer her mother had
taught her. I never prayed myself--my grandfather had never taught me. I
wondered if my mother would have taught me if she had lived. I thought
she would.
I knew very little in those days of the Bible. My grandfather did not
care for it, and never read it. He had a large Bible, but it was always
laid on the top of the chest of drawers, as a kind of ornament; and
unless I took it down to look at the curious old pictures inside, it was
never opened.
Sunday on the island was just the same as any other day. My grandfather
worked in the garden, or read the newspaper, just the same as usual, and
I rambled about the rocks, or did my lessons, or worked in the house, as
I did every other day in the week. We had no church or chapel to go to,
and nothing happened to mark the day.
I often think now of that dreadful morning when we went across the
stormy sea to that sinking ship. If our boat had capsized then, if we
had been lost, what would have become of our souls? It is a very solemn
thought, and I cannot be too thankful to God for sparing us both a
little longer. My grandfather was a kind-hearted, good-tempered, honest
old man; but I know now that that is not enough to open the door of
heaven.
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