Far down in the right-hand corner, I found an ad that took my breath away.
In small letters, it read: “Registered redbone coon hound pups—twenty-five dollars each.”
The advertisement was from a kennel in Kentucky. I read it over and over.
By the time I had memorized the ad, I was seeing dogs, hearing dogs, and even feeling them.
The magazine was forgotten. I was lost in thought.
The brain of an eleven-year-old boy can dream some fantastic dreams.
How wonderful it would be if I could have two of those pups. Every boy in the country but me had a good hound or two.
But fifty dollars—how could I ever get fifty dollars? I knew I couldn’t expect help from Mama and Papa.
I remembered a passage from the Bible my mother had read to us: “God helps those who help themselves.”
I thought of the words. I mulled them over in my mind. I decided I’d ask God to help me.
There on the banks of the Illinois River, in the cool shade of the tall white sycamores, I asked God to help me get two hound pups.
It wasn’t much of a prayer, but it did come right from the heart.
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