so in the habit of swearing, that I swear without
knowing what I am about."

"My friend," replied Father Brighthopes, laying his hand kindly upon his
shoulder, "I forgive you, from the bottom of my heart. But it is not of
_me_ you should ask pardon. I know the slavery of habit. It is only by
resolutely breaking its chains that we can be free."

"An oath must shock you," muttered Mark, penitently.

"True, my friend. I look upon profanity as awful, in view of the stern
commandment, 'THOU SHALT NOT TAKE THE NAME OF THE LORD THY GOD IN VAIN.'
But, if you take an oath, it matters little whether I hear it. Not
against me, but against God and your own soul, is the sin."

"I never thought about the sin being so very great."

"At least," said the old man, kindly, "swearing is not wise. You
purchase no pleasure, I am sure, by an idle oath."

"Well, but it is not so easy to break off the habit," replied Mark.

"I have heard a story of a converted sailor," said Chester,--to whom the
subject seemed an unpleasant one, without spice,--"who, from his youth
upwards, had made profane expletives a large proportion of his
conversation, so that, when he came to pray, the favorite oaths would,
in spite of himself, besprinkle the piety of his prayer. Yet he prayed
with a soul convulsed with anguish for his sins, and, with profanity on
his lips, pleaded that he might be pardoned the folly of swearing."

"And he was pardoned! believe it, that prayer was accepted and
answered!" exclaimed the old man, with enthusiasm. "It is the heart God
reads,--the heart, the heart!"

"I was going to tell you about the colt," said Mark, after a pause. "I
went into the yard, and found him picking some spears of grass out of
the corner of the fence. He didn't see me, and, without thinking, I
spoke to him quick; he flung up his head," continued Mark, with
emotion, "and the point of a rail struck him right in the eye."

"Did it put it out?"

"I am afraid so. I wouldn't have had it happen--" another oath--"for one
hundred dollars!"

Beyond the cornfield was a swampy lot, overgrown with coarse, wild
grass, and partially drained by a black, sluggish stream. Mark led the
way, treading upon stones, sticks and slabs, in springy spots, or
walking upon logs, that lay rotting upon the ground. Mr. Royden
followed, and Chester, with Father Brighthopes, came after.

"I hope you will not wet your feet," said the young man, helping the
clergyman over a bad place.