Kitty's face had been growing graver and graver with every word her brother spoke, and when at last he stopped, with his eyes turned towards Johnny's little grave, Kitty's shawl was crumpled up in her two hands and held tightly to her face; and she was crying, not softly and quietly, but rocking herself back and forth, and giving way to great sobs which shook her little form. Tip looked distressed; he didn't know what to say next; he stooped down to her at last, and spoke softly: "Oh, Kitty, I'm sorry for you! if you only _would_ love Jesus, it would make you happy." "I want to--I want to!" sobbed Kitty; "I would if I knew how." Tip's heart gave a bound of joy--a surprised bound, too; he had not expected it so soon. "It's easy, Kitty, it is, truly, if you only just ask God to do it. You see He can hear every word you say; He hears you now, but He wants you to ask Him about it. Say, Kitty, I'll go off and leave you,--I'll go where I can't see nor hear you,--then you kneel down and tell Jesus about it, and He'll help you." "Stop!" said Kitty, as Tip was turning away; "wait! I don't know what to say." "Why, just _tell_ Him, just as you did me, and ask Him to help you. You see, Kitty, you can't do a thing without that; He's got to look after you every single minute, or it's nothing at all." Tip went away, and Kitty was left alone,--alone in the spot where her brother had first found the Saviour. She felt very strangely; she had been left there alone to offer her first prayer. Kitty had never been taught to kneel down by her bedside every evening, and repeat "Our Father;" it was all new and strange to her. She sat still a long time, with the sober look deepening on her face. At last she got down on her knees and rested her little hard hands on the hard snow which covered Johnny's bed, and she said, "Jesus, I want to be what Tip says. I want to love you if you'll let me. Nobody loves me, I guess. Tip says you'll help me all the time. If you will, I'll try." After she had said this, slowly and thoughtfully, stopping long between each sentence, she didn't feel like rising up; she wanted to say more, so she repeated it, adding, "Tip says I must be good. I can't be good, but I'll try." Over and over was the simple, earnest prayer repeated. Tip did not go back to Johnny's grave; he took a side road down through the edge of the grove, and so went home; and when he reached home, he went up to his attic room, and knelt down and prayed for Kitty as only those _can_ pray who have been working as well as asking for what they want. Kitty was stirring the pudding for supper when he saw her again,--stirring away hard at the heavy mass, which grew thicker and harder to stir every moment. He went over to her. "Kitty, let me do this;" and she gave up the pudding-stick. Tip stirred away.