"
"For years, you say! And who then taught her to pray?" said the Breton
surprised.
"It was my father," said Paula quietly.
"Your father! Well, he wasn't much like me, then; was he!"
"No, he wasn't," and Paula without a sign of either fear or abhorrence
looked compassionately at the brutalized face that confronted her.
"And you don't live with him any more?"
"No," said Paula; "father is in heaven."
"And whatever would you do if you had a father like me?" and the poor
Breton looked at her keenly.
Paula sat a moment with closed eyes. She recalled the strong noble face and
figure of her dear father and asked God to give her a reply to the poor
drunkard's question.
"I think," she said at last, "I would ask God Himself to make him a man of
God like my father."
"And do you believe He could do it?" The Breton looked very doubtful.
"I'm sure of it!"
"Yes, but you don't know how bad I am."
"Yes, I know," said Paula; "everybody in town knows you're a bad man, but
you're no worse than the bandit who was crucified with the Lord Jesus; and
yet Christ saved him; didn't He?"
"That's more or less what I am--a bandit, I suppose. I remember that story.
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