"Sleep if you can, darling," her mother said tenderly. "You will be much stronger to-morrow. The doctor has attended to your poor shoulder. Thank God you are not more seriously hurt!"
"What is the time mother?" Peggy asked. "Have you had tea? I was so sorry about the buns. I dropped them, you know."
"Did you? As if that mattered! No, we have not had tea. We have been too anxious about you to think of it. Now we shall have tea and supper together. It is nearly seven o'clock—not quite your usual bedtime, but never mind that to-night. Rest will do you good. I want you to sleep."
"I am very tired," Peggy murmured, "but I haven't said my prayers, and my head feels so funny that I can't think. I will say my 'little prayer' to-night.' Then she repeated very slowly and softly:
"Holy Father, cheer our way
With Thy love's perpetual ray:
Grant us every closing day
Light at evening time."
It was a pathetic prayer, coming as it did from the lips of one who lived in permanent darkness. But it had been one of the first Peggy had learnt and she had always been very fond of it, calling it her "little prayer." To-night her eyelids closed as she repeated the last line, and a few minutes later she had fallen asleep.
Mrs. Pringle remained by the bedside some while longer, tears, which she had repressed till now, running down her cheeks, though her heart was full of gratitude to Him Who had spared her child's life. She was a most affectionate mother, devoted to both her children; but her little daughter, doubtless by reason of her affliction, was always her first care. She shuddered as she thought what might have been the result of the accident that afternoon, and pictured her darling trampled beneath the horses' hoofs.
"God gave His angels charge over her," she murmured, as she bent her head once more, and kissed the little sleeper. Then she stole softly away, and went downstairs to the sitting-room where Billy his father were keeping each other company, both heavy-hearted, though the doctor had assured them there was no cause for alarm.
"How is she now?" they asked, with one accord, as she entered the room.
"Sleeping peacefully," she told them, a smile lighting up her pale, tearful countenance. "You may go and look at her; but please be very careful not to disturb her. I have every hope that she will be better after a good rest. We have much to thank God for this night!"