She raised her great eyes full of wonder.
“Do you not know?” said she. “He is dead!”
Then she began to cry, and I almost let her fall.
“Dead,” repeated I. “Marie, do you know what it is to be dead?”
“Yes, sir,” answered she; “it is to be in the churchyard, and in heaven.”
Then she continued, “I pray to the good God for him night and morning at mamma’s knees.”
I kissed her forehead.
“Marie, say your prayers.”
“I must not, sir; prayers must not be said in the middle of the day; come this evening and I will say them to you.”
This was too much, and I interrupted her.