added suddenly with that peculiarly sedate air which children try hard to assume when they want to speak like grown-up people.

“Did your father love you?”

“He loved Lida most,” she went on very seriously without a smile, exactly like grown-up people, “he loved her because she is little and because she is ill, too. And he always used to bring her presents. But he taught us to read and me grammar and scripture, too,” she added with dignity. “And mother never used to say anything, but we knew that she liked it and father knew it, too. And mother wants to teach me French, for it’s time my education began.”

“And do you know your prayers?”

“Of course, we