Here was shelter and home-light and mother-love, but Molly had none of the latter to be thankful for. Lloyd could not drive away the thought, and when there came a pause in the conversation she began telling Molly's story to her interested listeners. It had the same effect on them that it had on Joyce and Eugenia, and presently Allison slipped down to the library to bring up a volume of bound magazines that the girls might see the picture that reminded Molly of Dot.
The grief of the poor little waif seemed very real to Elise, who hung over the picture, calling attention to every detail of the shabby room. "Look at the old broken stool," she said, "and her thin little arms. And her shoes are all worn out, too. I wish she had a pair of mine."
Long after she was tucked away in her little white bed she called out through the darkness, "Mamma, do you s'pose Dot knows how to say her prayers?"
"I don't know, darling," came the answer. "It has been a long time since she had any one to teach her." There was a pause, then another whispered call.
"Mamma, do you s'pose it would do any good if I'd say them for her?"
"Yes, love, I am sure it would."
There was a rustling of bedclothes. Two bare feet struck the floor, and Elise knelt down in the dark, saying, softly:
"Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray thee, Lord, her soul to keep.
If she should die before I wake,
I pray thee, Lord, my soul to take.
Please, God, help poor little lost Dot to get back to her sister. Amen. There, I guess he'll know, even if it did sound sort of mixed up," she said, climbing back to bed with a sigh of mingled relief and satisfaction.