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‘D’you mean to say that if you really believed you could
move mountains you could?’
‘By the grace of God,’ said the Vicar.
‘Now, say good-night to your uncle, Philip,’ said Aunt
Louisa. ‘You’re not wanting to move a mountain tonight,
are you?’
Philip allowed himself to be kissed on the forehead by
his uncle and preceded Mrs. Carey upstairs. He had got
the information he wanted. His little room was icy, and he
shivered when he put on his nightshirt. But he always felt
that his prayers were more pleasing to God when he said
them under conditions of discomfort. The coldness of his
hands and feet were an offering to the Almighty. And to-
night he sank on his knees; buried his face in his hands, and
prayed to God with all his might that He would make his
club-foot whole. It was a very small thing beside the moving
of mountains. He knew that God could do it if He wished,
and his own faith was complete. Next morning, finishing
his prayers with the same request, he fixed a date for the
miracle.
‘Oh, God, in Thy loving mercy and goodness, if it be Thy
will, please make my foot all right on the night before I go
back to school.’
He was glad to get his petition into a formula, and he
repeated it later in the dining-room during the short pause
which the Vicar always made after prayers, before he rose
from his knees. He said it again in the evening and again,
shivering in his nightshirt, before he got into bed. And he
believed. For once he looked forward with eagerness to the