He lifted Little Child so that she knelt, and her head drooped on his shoulder. He had one arm about her and the other hand on the pink, upturned soles of her feet. The child put out one hand blindly for Miggy's hand. So Miggy came and stood beside Peter, and together they waited for the little sleepy voice.
It came with disconcerting promptness.
"Now—I—lay—me—down—to—sleep—for—Jesus'—sake—Amen," prayed Little Child in one breath.
"No, sweetheart," Miggy remonstrated, with her alluring emphasis on "sweet." "Say it right, dear."
"Now I lay me—is Bless-your-Heart sayin' hers?" demanded Little Child.
"Couldn't you get along without her, when you're so sleepy?" Miggy coaxed.
"Mustn't skip nights," Little Child told her. "Bless-your-Heart might die before morning."
So Miggy found Bless-your-Heart under the couch, and haled her forth, and laid her in Little Child's arms. And Peter put his face close, close to Little Child's, and shut his eyes.
"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take who'll I bless to-night?" said Little Child.
"Aunt Effie," Miggy prompted.