"Yes, it is."
Dreamikins mopped her face with her handkerchief, and spoke in her old assured tone.
"It's because of Cherubine, and I'm all alone; and there's nobody to take care of me when I sleeps, and anything might happen. Satan might come and sit on my pillow, and there would be nobody to frighten him away. God won't come near me, and I want to speak to Him badly."
"What do you want to say?"
"Oh, just to tell Him I'm sorry for all I did that day, and I'll never be so wicked again. But God left me; that's why I broked my leg. If Cherubine had been there she would have caught hold of that nasty old roller and not let it slip on me. I sent her away, and God hasn't sent me any angel since."
"If you speak to God now He'll hear you, Dreamikins. He is always ready to forgive us when we are really sorry."
"But I have speaked, and He won't answer. He's gone away."
Fibo hadn't known Dreamikins for so long without understanding her mind.
"Shut your eyes," he said; "I am going to speak to God about you. He is quite close to me."
Then Fibo prayed a short little prayer for his penitent little niece, and light began to dawn in Dreamikins' blue eyes.