“‘I like to say them in bed,’ she replied.
“So did I that night.
“I placed the lamp, burning brightly, on the floor in the hall opposite my door, leaving the door wide open, then I lay down, and said my prayers in bed.
“Elsie was soon asleep; my prayer ended with the earnest petition, several times repeated: ‘Please let me go to sleep quick and stay asleep all night.’
“Then I watched the light, and thought about home, and fell asleep.
“A voice awakened me: Elsie was sitting up in bed:—
“‘I’ll do your hair, Marion,’ she said thickly, talking in her sleep.
“I pressed her down, and covered her; she did not waken. But I was awake, wide awake, alone in a great wilderness. There was no sound, no sound anywhere, but a stillness like the stillness of death.
“Then sh—sh—sh—a hush, a soft pressing against something—a padded shoulder against a door, a soft fist at a window; then the stillness like the stillness of death. I was awake; I did not sleep.
“The soft, soft sound came again and again; the softest sound I had ever heard, and then the stillest silence.