Here
was the Indian, whom no one considered anything but a hopeless
pagan, praying to God for guidance at each step in life, while he
himself, supposed to be a Christian, had not prayed regularly for
months -- was in danger of forgetting how.
Yet there was one religious observance that Rolf never forgot --
that was to keep the Sabbath, and on that day each week he did
occasionally say a little prayer his mother had taught him. He
avoided being seen at such times and did not speak of kindred
doings. Whereas Quonab neither hid nor advertised his religious
practices, and it was only after many Sundays had gone that
Quonab remarked:
"Does your God come only one day of the week? Does He sneak in
after dark? Why is He ashamed that you only whisper to Him?
Mine is here all the time. I can always reach Him with my song;
all days are my Sunday."
The evil memories of his late life were dimming quickly, and the
joys of the new one growing. Rolf learned early that, although
one may talk of the hardy savage, no Indian seeks for hardship.
Everything is done that he knows to make life pleasant, and of
nothing is he more careful than the comfort of his couch.
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