Horace at the Table

It was Sunday, and, as usual, when he went to church regularly anywhere, he sat with Aunt Jane in her pew. He had a bad habit of wandering about from church to church, with no special preference for any one, and she had not seen him at hers for some weeks. He behaved himself now with great outward devotion; took off his glove reverently, as his mother had taught him to do, as he sat at the sacramental table and received the sacred bread and wine, and joined in the hymns with apparent fervor. Aunt Jane's heart yearned for him; how much this festival mean to her--how little to him! And as she silently prayed for him, he felt the old discomfort creeping over him, the sense of unrest experienced, at times, at least, by every human soul that tries to satisfy its infinite longs and yearning with finite things. ~ From Aunt Jane's Hero

[Another reminder, folks, of the importance of praying for our wayward children. ~mr]