and cried as if
his heart would break. He was only fourteen years old.

It was no light act of courage in those days, my dear boys, for a little
fellow to say his prayers publicly, even at Rugby. A few years later,
when Arnold's manly piety had begun to leaven the School, the tables
turned; before he died, in the School-house at least, and I believe in
the other house, the rule was the other way. But poor Tom had come to
school in other times. The first few nights after he came he did not
kneel down because of the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was
out, and then stole out and said his prayers, in fear lest some one
should find him out. So did many another poor little fellow. Then he
began to think that he might just as well say his prayers in bed, and
then that it didn't matter whether he was kneeling, or sitting, or lying
down. And so it had come to pass with Tom, as with all who will not
confess their Lord before men; and for the last year he had probably not
said his prayers in earnest a dozen times.

Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which was like to break his
heart was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of all others which
he loathed was brought in and burnt in on his own soul. He had lied to
his mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? And
then the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and almost scorned for
his weakness, had done that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do.
The first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to himself that he
would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him, and help
him, and bear his burdens for the good deed done that night. Then he
resolved to write home next day and tell his mother all, and what a
coward her son had been. And then peace came to him as he resolved,
lastly, to bear his testimony next morning. The morning would be harder
than the night to begin with, but he felt that he could not afford to
let one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for the devil showed him
first all his old friends calling him "Saint" and "Square-toes," and
a dozen hard names, and whispered to him that his motives would be
misunderstood, and he would only be left alone with the new boy; whereas
it was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he might do good to
the largest number. And then came the more subtle temptation, "Shall I
not be showing myself braver than others by doing this? Have I any right
to begin it now? O