THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
Well, toward such a reef the guileless William was steering his argosy of love.
Late that night, when the upper deck was deserted, the girl stole out of her cabin and walked for a mile or more around the deck-houses. The sea was calm; there was not the slightest roll to the ship. Far away to starboard she saw the sail of a felucca as it tacked into the moonlight. She paused at the rail and watched it until it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
Presently she looked up toward the brilliant moon and began to pray.
Why do prayers seem ineffectual unless uttered aloud? Is it because in silent prayer evil is still a force, strong enough to break the thread, and we need the sound of our voice to give us confidence and fervor?
"Dear God, make me strong. Take out of my heart the evil longings. Give me strength always to be good. Let me not covet that which is not mine. Clean my heart and put temptation behind me. Amen!"
She bent her head to the rail.
William Grogan, standing behind a ventilator, a perfectly innocent eavesdropper, never forgot that simple prayer. He took off his cap reverently and tiptoed away. But he carried with him the truth; the thunderclap rang in his ears. He loved this school-teacher of his with all the ardor of his Irish soul.
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