He looked down at his arm to see, and, "I wouldn't care if it did," he replied, in some surprise. "No. It feels good. Oh, Miggy--do you do this every night?" "I don't always curl her hair," said Miggy, "but I always put her to bed. If ever Aunt Effie undresses her, she tells her she _may_ die before morning, so she'd better say her prayer, pretty. Goodness, she hasn't said her prayer yet, either." "Isn't she too sleepy?" asked Peter. "Yes," Miggy answered; "but she feels bad in the morning if she doesn't say it. You know she thinks she says her prayer to mother, and that mother waits to hear her...." Miggy looked up fleetingly at her mother's picture on the wall--one of those pale enlargements of a photograph which tell you definitely that the subject is dead. "I do' want any other curls on me," announced Little Child, suddenly. "Just one more, dear," Miggy told her, "and then we're through. Turn her head a little, Peter." "No," said Little Child. "Now I'm all curly." And, "Yes, Precious. Be still on Peter's arm just a minute more," said Miggy at the same time. And, "If you say anything more, I'll kiss you," said Peter, to whom it might concern. "Kiss _me_?" said Little Child. "I won't be." "Somebody's got to be," said Peter, with decision. "Now, our prayer," ruled Miggy suddenly, and rose. "Come, dear." Peter looked up in Miggy's face. "Let her be here," he said. "Let her be here." He lifted Little Child so that she knelt, and her head drooped on his shoulder. He had one arm about her and the other hand on the pink, upturned soles of her feet. The child put out one hand blindly for Miggy's hand. So Miggy came and stood beside Peter, and together they waited for the little sleepy voice. It came with disconcerting promptness. "Now--I--lay--me--down--to--sleep--for--Jesus'--sake--Amen," prayed Little Child in one breath. "No, sweetheart," Miggy remonstrated, with her alluring emphasis on "sweet." "Say it right, dear." "Now I lay me--is Bless-your-Heart sayin' hers?" demanded Little Child. "Couldn't you get along without her, when you're so sleepy?" Miggy coaxed. "Mustn't skip nights," Little Child told her. "Bless-your-Heart might die before morning." So Miggy found Bless-your-Heart under the couch, and haled her forth, and laid her in Little Child's arms. And Peter put his face close, close to Little Child's, and shut his eyes. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take who'll I bless to-night?" said Little Child. "Aunt Effie," Miggy prompted. "Bless Aunt Effie," said Little Child, "and Miggy and Bless-your-Heart and New Auntie" (she meant me. Think of her meaning me!) "and the man that gave me the peanuts, and bless Stella's party and make 'em have ice-cream, and bless my new shoes and my sore finger. For Jesus' sake, Amen." Little Child drew a long breath and stirred to get down, but Peter did not move. "And bless Peter," Miggy said.