“Mary,” I continued, “hast thou a papa?”
“Yes, Sir,” said the child.
“Well, then, dearest, where is he?”
She raised her large eyes in astonishment:—
“Ah, then you don’t know, Sir? Papa is dead.”
Here she began to cry: I nearly let the little angel fall.
“Dead!” I exclaimed: “Mary, knowest thou what it is to be dead?”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered. “He is in earth and in Heaven;” and she continued of her own accord, “I pray to God for him morning and evening at mamma’s knees.”
I kissed her on her forehead.
“Mary, say to me thy prayer.”