Mary had not done with the matter yet. When she was in bed, I always slipped in to say a last good-night, and she liked it. Often she was sleepy, and said only a word. But that evening she was wide awake, and she took my face between her hands, and looked at it.
"Kitty, you are getting pale," she told me.
"O no," I answered.
"Saying no doesn't alter things," she said. "Are you poorly?"
"No," I said.
"Poor little Kitty!" she whispered, and she kissed my cheek.
"I'm only come to—say good-night," I said.
"Yes, I know," said she; yet she wouldn't let go. She pulled me down till I lay beside her, with my face against hers, and then she asked— "Kitty, do you ever pray?"
"Yes," I said, "every morning and evening."
"You say your prayers, don't you?" said she. "But is it real praying?"