"Yes, I have two twin sisters about as old as you, and a little brother, but they do not cry." She was interested directly, and began to ask me questions. I talked to her till she was quiet, and had forgotten her passion, and then I said, "I will tell you more when you are dressed." "But I don't want to be dressed," said she, putting up her lip. "Mary hurts me so. I want my own old Mary!" "But you can't have her, my Lady, because she is not here," argued the maid. "She is dead and gone, as you know very well." Then to me: "Do persuade her. My Lady will be displeased." "Will you let me dress you, Lady Betty?" I asked. "Won't you take hold of my arms hard and hurt me?" she asked, looking doubtfully at me. "Not if I can help it. But if I do, you must tell me, and I will be more careful." She submitted with a good grace, and I took her in my lap and dressed her like a baby, Mary handing me the things. The tears were very near my eyes as I was doing it, for I remembered how I used to dress my poor little sister Phillis, the one next older than the twins, who died of a waste a year before my father. I did not wonder that Lady Betty dreaded to be touched, when I saw how thin she was—nothing but skin and bone. She is terribly hunchbacked, too. Her backbone is turned to one side, and curves out so that she has a great bunch on her shoulders. She cried out once or twice, but on the whole we got through pretty well. When I had done, she put up her poor face and kissed me, saying that I had hardly hurt her at all. I was glad to see that Mary looked relieved and pleased instead of seeming jealous. "That is my good little Lady!" said she. "Now, I will bring your breakfast." And she hastened away. "Don't you say your prayers?" I asked the child, when we were alone together. "Why, no!" she said, as if surprised. "I cannot go to the chapel." "But you might say them here. Your Heavenly Father will know what you say as well here as in the chapel." "Well, I will say them, if you will hear me, as Mary used. I like you, and I will do as you bid me." I thought I had made a good beginning. I set her on the side of the bed, as she could not kneel, and kneeling by her, with her hands clasped in mine, I made her say after me the Lord's prayer, and another, which dear mother taught me as a child. Then I made her say, "God bless my father and mother, and all my friends, and make me a good girl." She was very serious and reverent. After we had finished, she asked me to carry her to the window that she might look out. "Cannot you walk?" I asked. "Yes, but it hurts me. I like to be carried best."