Very palpably her eyelids began to droop. "Where was I?" she asked sharply. "Oh, yes, 'the green, grassy club.' Well, when I die," she faltered, "I'm going to die specially on some Sunday when there's a big golf game,--so he'll just naturally have to give it up and stay home and--amuse me--and help arrange the flowers. The Parpa's crazy about flowers. So am I," she added broodingly. "I raised almost a geranium once. But the Parpa threw it out. It was a good geranium, too. All it did was just to drip the tiniest-teeniest bit over a book and a writing and somebody's brains in a dish. He threw it at a cat. It was a good cat, too. All it did was to--" A little jerkily her drooping head bobbed forward and then back again. Her heavy eyes were almost tight shut by this time, and after a moment's silence her lips began moving dumbly like one at silent devotions. "I'm making a little poem, now," she confided at last. "It's about--you and me. It's a sort of a little prayer." Very, very softly she began to repeat. Now I sit me down to nap All curled up in a Nursie's lap, If _she_ should die before I wake-- Abruptly she stopped and stared up suspiciously into the White Linen Nurse's eyes. "Ha!" she mocked, "you thought I was going to say 'If I should die before I wake,'--didn't you? _Well, I'm not_!" "It would have been more generous," acknowledged the White Linen Nurse. Very stiffly the Little Girl pursed her lips. "It's plenty generous enough--when it's all done!" she said severely. "And I'll thank you,--Miss Malgregor,--not to interrupt me again!" With excessive deliberateness she went back to the first line of her poem and began all over again, Now I sit me down to nap, All curled up in a Nursie's lap, If _she_ should die before I wake, Give her--give her ten cents--for Jesus' sake! "Why that's a--a cunning little prayer," yawned the White Linen Nurse. Most certainly of course she would have smiled if the yawn hadn't caught her first. But now in the middle of the yawn it was a great deal easier to repeat the "very cunning" than to force her lips into any new expression. "Very cunning--very cunning," she kept crooning conscientiously. Modestly like some other successful authors the Little Girl flapped her eyelids languidly open and shut for three or four times before she acknowledged the compliment. "Oh, cunning as any of 'em," she admitted off-handishly. Only once again did she open either mouth or eyes, and this time it was merely one eye and half a mouth. "Do my fat iron braces--hurt you?" she mumbled drowsily. "Yes, a little," conceded the White Linen Nurse. "Ha! They hurt me--all the time!" gibed the Little Girl. Five minutes later, the child who didn't particularly care about being held, and the girl who didn't particularly care about holding her, were fast asleep in each other's arms,--a naughty, nagging, restive little hornet all hushed up and a-dream in the heart of a pink wild-rose!