“A fireman, Willie?”
“Yes, a fireman. My brother, Blaz—a—Frank, I mean, is one, and he saved the lives of some people not long since.”
Of course Willie here diverged into a graphic account of the fire in Beverly Square, and, seeing that Ziza listened with intense earnestness, he dilated upon every point, and went with special minuteness into the doings of Frank.
When he concluded, Ziza heaved a very deep sigh and closed her eyes.
“I’ve tired you, Ziza,” exclaimed Willie, jumping up, with a look of anxiety, and removing the tea-board and jacket, as the child slipped down under the clothes. He asked if she wanted to go to sleep.
“Yes, for I’m very tired,” she sighed languidly; then added, “but please read to me a little first.”
“What book am I to read you?” said Willie, looking round the room, where no book of any kind was to be seen.
“Here, it’s under the pillow.”
Willie put his hand under the pillow and pulled out a small pocket-Bible.
“Read the third chapter of Saint John’s Gospel,” said the child, closing her eyes.