“Now I ’ay me down to s’eep,
P’ay de Lord my soul to teep;
If I die before I wate,
P’ay de Lord my soul to tate.”
This was the little evening prayer that had been taught him, with much trouble, by his mother.
It was uttered now in a place and among people who had probably never heard a prayer before.
Yet, perhaps, no purer orisons from priest or prelate arose to the throne of the Most High that night.
“Now me done. Now me do s’eep,” said Lenny, drowsily, climbing up to Meg’s lap and putting his arms around her neck and nestling his head upon her bosom.
“Bless the darling!” said the girl, as she gathered him closer and supported him comfortably.
And again he was almost asleep, when again he started up and called out again: