"It is unfortunate to threaten children. But I believe all do it in their youth and inexperience. In this particular case I think you ought to break your word as to its letter. As to its spirit you do not break it; you certainly never meant to treat this dear little lamb cruelly." "But suppose I put her to bed, and she remembers what passed between us to-night, shan't I lose my hold on her? Won't she expect to disobey me again?" "I hardly think this baby-memory will recall to-night's scenes in a definite way. If it does we will devise some way in which to preserve its faith in you. Come, shall I put the little thing to bed? I haven't threatened it, you know." "Oh, dear, I wish Fred was here. Fred is so particular about having Kitty obedient. He says it is indispensable." "I am glad to hear it, and glad to know that you two are united in your plans for the child. And now, suppose as you are a little confused as to your duty, we kneel down and get counsel from One who knows how to set you right." A few simple words followed, and as they rose, the young mother threw her arms around Mrs. Grey's neck, and kissed her. "How I love you!" she said. "Fred said I should if I stayed long enough to know you. I'm glad I stayed." And here baby woke up, rubbed her eyes, and smiled. "Me rested now; me say p'ayer now," she said. "Me was bely tired." "I thought this was how it would end," said Mrs. Grey. "The little creature was all tired out, not naughty. I am afraid you and I should not like to have our arms slapped when we were too tired to pray." "I hope I never shall threaten my poor little kitten again," said Hatty, as she tucked the child snugly in its crib. "Why, I am almost ill with the pain I have suffered. But now about to-morrow night? Suppose Kitty forms a habit of refusing to say her prayers?" "Dear Hatty, the children of _believing_ parents never form habits of disobedience." "Oh, are you sure of that? I know a number of truly good and faithful parents whose children have turned out badly in every way." "Investigate the cases and you will find something wrong in the parents. It may be neglect, it may be over-doing; it may be too much will, it may be too little will; I do not know, and unless I can be of service in the matter, do not want to know the history of individual experiences. But when I see a brook muddy, I like to know who stepped in to trouble it, whether man or beast, especially if I am obliged to drink from it." Hatty smiled. "I rather think it was I who stepped into this brook," she said; "I thought I was acting for Kitty's best good, but perhaps I was as willful, and as resolved to have my own way, as she was. But before you go I want to ask you if we may pray about little things?" "How little?" "Well--for instance, what you did just now?" "My dear Hatty, it is not a little thing to own our human helplessness, and cast ourselves on Divine strength."