"I should think they'd wash their faces."
"O, they do, but our Heavenly Father made them black."
"Did he?" cried Prudy, raising her head from the pillow. "And did he know how they was goin' to look when he made 'em? That man that catched me up, why, how he must feel!"
"He was very kind," said aunt Madge, trembling as she thought of the child's danger. "O Prudy, did you thank him?"
"No, I didn't," replied Prudy. "I didn't know as he could hear any thing. O, mayn't I go up to the jispy Pines to-morrow and thank him?"
"We'll see; but now it's time you went to sleep."
"Well, I will," said Prudy, "I'll go in a minute; but, auntie, he's good, ain't he? He ain't black all through?"
"He's quite a good man," answered aunt Madge, trying not to smile, "and has had a great deal of trouble. I can't stop to tell you, and you wouldn't understand; but I dare say he has cried ever so much, Prudy, and felt worse than you can think, all because he is black; and some people don't like black men."
"I should think they'd be ashamed," cried the child. "Why, I love him, 'cause he can't wash it off! Mayn't I put him in my prayer?"
Then Prudy had to get out of bed and kneel down and say her prayer over again. It followed the Lord's Prayer, and was in her own words:—