Johnnie looked sturdy and cross. Anne hung her head; and Elizabeth burst out again, “They always do—they always are cross to me! I said I’d tell you, and now they said Ida was a conceited little toad, and stingy Bet was another;” and out burst her howls again. “A very sad and improper way of spending a Sunday evening,” said Miss Fosbrook, who had really grown quite angry. “Anne and John, I _will_ put an end to this teasing. Go to bed this instant.” They did not dare to disobey, but went off slowly with sulky footsteps, muttering to one another that Miss Fosbrook always took pipy Betty’s part; Nurse said so, and they wished Mamma was at home. And when they came up to the nursery, Nurse pitied them. She had never heard of a young lady doing such a thing as ordering off two poor dear children to bed for only just saying a word; but it seemed there were to be favourites now. No, she could not put them to bed; they must wait till Mary came in from her walk; she wasn’t going to put herself out of the way for any fine London governess. So Johnnie had another conquest over Miss Fosbrook; but Anne was uncomfortable, and went and sat in a corner, wishing she had had her punishment properly over, and kicking her brother away when he wanted to play with her. As for Bessie, she only cried the more for Miss Fosbrook’s trying to talk to her. It was a way of hers, perhaps from being less strong than the others, if once she started in a cry she could not leave off. Susan told Miss Fosbrook so; and the boys tried to drag her on with a promise of a blackbird’s nest; but she thought them unfeeling to such woeful distress, and first tried to reason with Bessie, then to soothe her, till at last, finding all in vain, she thought bed the only place for the child, and led her into the house, helped her, still shaking with sobs, to undress, and was going to see her lie down in the bed which she shared with Susan. Elizabeth was still young enough to say her prayers aloud. The words came out in the middle of choking sobs, not as if she were much attending to them. Miss Fosbrook knelt down by her as she was going to rise, and said in her own words, “Most merciful God, give unto this Thy child the spirit of content, and the spirit of love, that she may bear patiently all the little trials that hurt and vex her, and win her way as Thy good soldier and servant. Amen.” Elizabeth held her breath to listen. It was new and odd. She did not like to say Amen; she did not know if the governess were not taking a liberty. Perhaps it was a new way of telling her she was wrong—Christabel, whom she had thought on her side. The bad temper woke up, and would not let her offer a friendly kiss. She hid her face in the pillow, and as soon as Miss Fosbrook had shut the door, went off into a fresh gust of piteous sobs, because Miss Elizabeth Merrifield was the most miserable ill-used child in all the world.