“Little Cissy,” she said, “is not God thy Father, and his likewise? And thinkest thou fathers love to see their children happy and at ease, or no?”
“Father likes us to be happy,” said Cissy simply.
“And ‘your Father knoweth,’” softly replied Elizabeth, “‘that ye have need of all these things.’”
“Oh, then, He’ll send in Ursula, or somebody,” responded Cissy, in a contented tone. “It’ll be all right if I ask Him to see to it.”
And Cissy “asked Him to see to it,” and then lay down peacefully, her tranquillity restored, by the side of little Will, and all the children were asleep in a few minutes.
“Now, Bessy, we can have our talk.”
So saying, Rose drew the stools into a corner, out of the way of the wind, which came puffing in at the skylight in a style rather unpleasant for November, and the girls sat down together for a chat.
“How go matters with you at Master Clere’s, Bessy?”
“Oh, middling. I go not about to complain, only that I would Mistress Amy were a bit steadier than she is.”
“She’s a gadabout, isn’t she?”