When I had finished, I said—"Fenwick, I'm awfully sorry, but fact is—I can't pray."
"Never mind about that, old man!" said he; "Little 'Un can pray!"
And Little 'Un did pray; and I tell you what, fellows, I never heard any such prayer. That little girl was a brick.
Then Fenwick Major put out fingers like pipe-staples, and said—
"Old man, you'll give Little 'Un a hand—after—you know."
I don't know that I said anything. Then he spoke again, and very slowly—
"It's all right, old boy. Sun hasn't gone down on our wrath, has it?"
And even as he smiled and held a hand of both of us, the sun went down.
Little brick, wasn't she? Good little soul as ever was! Three cheers for the little wife, I say. What are you fellows snuffling at there? Why can't you cheer?