Yet soon the little lids fell, opened again and fell once more, and then suddenly the child started up.
"But I haven't said my p'ayers."
"Say them now, little Sunlocks."
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, Look upon a little child, Guard me while in sleep I lie, Take me to Thy home on—on—"
"Would you like to go to heaven, little Sunlocks?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I want to keep with—with—my fath——"
The little eyes were closed by this time, and the child was asleep on Stephen's knees. Now was the time—now—now. But no, it was harder now than ever.
The little face—so silent, so peaceful—how formidable it was! The little soft hand in his own big hard palm—how strong and terrible!