“I think you’re _very_ good,” said Mary, with the air of a judge. “You saved me from the fire. Oh, what a jump it was! Won’t you let me sleep with you to-night, and cuddle close in your arms, if mother isn’t back?” Bet wasn’t sure, and she mumbled out something to that effect, which Mary chose to take for consent to the arrangement. They made their way, thus talking and considering, to the house of an acquaintance of Bet—a thief, of course, like herself, and almost as well known. Bet was careful to keep the child apart from her friends, that their strange talk might not reach or contaminate its ears, and early in the evening undressed Mary with her own hands to put her into the bed under the slates which had been appropriated to her use. She tucked the child in very tenderly, and got a hearty kiss for her pains, and was then about to leave the little closet, when Mary called her back with the words— “But I haven’t said my blesses.” “Jerusalem! and what is that?” said Bet, for a moment puzzled. “Oh, you just sit there, and put your hands together like mine, while I say them like a little angel,” said Mary, and to teach her new pupil she illustrated the matter by getting out of the bed-clothes and kneeling beside Bet, clasping her hands and beginning to repeat her prayers. Bet’s attitude—expressive more of astonishment than anything—not quite pleasing her, Mary had to stop and place her new friend’s hands in the same position as her own; and, that being adjusted, she proceeded— “God bless mother; bless Bet, my new mother; bless everybody—for amen. Good-night. This night I lay me down to sleep; I give my soul to Christ to keep. If I should die and never wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. For amen. Good-night. Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Kingdom come. Thy will be done—earth as ’tis heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our debts, as we forgive those trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation. But deliver us from evil. For amen. Good-night.” Bet was hushed and subdued, and the second kiss which she imprinted on the child’s lips was very near being a tearful one. Possibly the simple utterances of the little one had awakened in her breast some memories of her own childhood, long dormant; or perhaps the pure radiance of the child’s innocence was showing her the darkness of her own heart and life. At any rate Bet left the little closet very bad company for her friends, and was more than once twitted by them upon her solemnity. Bet had begun to think; but as yet the only tangible idea that came to her out of that whirl was expressed in the words— “I wish the bairn’s friends would not turn up. I think I should like to keep her myself.”