Feeling under some sort of theological obligation to hear her say her prayers, I pulled her curls a little till she awoke, and went through with “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pway ve Lord,” triumphantly. I supposed that was the end, but it seems that she has been also taught the Lord’s Prayer, which she gave me promptly to understand. “O, see here! That isn’t all. I can say Our Father, and you’ve got to help me a lot!” This very soon became a self-evident proposition; but by our united efforts we managed, after tribulations manifold, to arrive successfully at “For ever ’n’ ever ’n’ ever ’n’ _A_-men.” “Dear me,” she said, jumping up with a yawn, “I think that’s a _dreadful long-tailed prayer_,--don’t you, Cousin Mary?” “Now I must kiss mamma good night,” she announced, when she was tucked up at last. “But mamma kissed you good night before you came up.” “O, so she did. Yes, I ’member. Well, it’s papa I’ve got to kiss. I knew there was somebody.” I looked at her in perplexity. “Why, there!” she said, “in the upper drawer,--my pretty little papa in a purple frame. Don’t you know?” I went to the bureau-drawer, and found in a case of velvet a small ivory painting of her father. This I brought, wondering, and the child took it reverently and kissed the pictured lips. “Faith,” I said, as I laid it softly back, “do you always do this?” “Do what? Kiss papa good night? O yes, I’ve done that ever since I was a little girl, you know. I guess I’ve always kissed him pretty much. When I’m a naughty girl he feels _real_ sorry. He’s gone to heaven. I like him. O yes, and then, when I’m through kissing, mamma kisses him too.” X. June 11. I was in her room this afternoon while she was dressing. I like to watch her brush her beautiful gray hair; it quite alters her face to have it down; it seems to shrine her in like a cloud, and the outlines of her cheeks round out, and she grows young. “I used to be proud of my hair when I was a girl,” she said with a slight blush, as she saw me looking at her; “it was all I had to be vain of, and I made the most of it. Ah well! I was dark-haired three years ago. “O you regular old woman!” she added, smiling at herself in the mirror, as she twisted the silver coils flashing through her fingers. “Well, when I am in heaven, I shall have my pretty brown hair again.” It seemed odd enough to hear that; then the next minute it did not seem odd at all, but the most natural thing in the world. June 14.