ey like some
prisoned spirit.

"Wake up, Cynthia, and say good-night."

Elizabeth watched the child. Her theory was that children should be put
to bed early and not allowed to lie around on any one's lap. There was
always a tussle of wills when you roused them. She drew herself up with
a kind of severe mental bracing and awaited the result, glad Chilian was
there.

Rachel toyed with the hair, patted the soft flushed cheek, and took the
hands in hers.

"Cynthia," she said gently, "Cynthia, dear, wake up."

The child roused, opened her eyes. "I'm so tired," she murmured. "Will
we never be done crossing the wide, wide ocean? And where is Salem?"

"We are there, dear, safe and housed from the storm. You have been
asleep on my knee. Come to bed now. Say good-night."

She stood the little girl up on her feet and put one arm around her.

It was against Elizabeth Leverett's theories that any child should go
off peaceably, with no snarling protest. Chilian raised his book a
little, hoping in the depths of his soul there would be no scene.

"Say good-night."

No child of Puritan training, with the fear of the rod before her eyes,
could have done better. She said good-night in a very sleepy tone, and
slipped her arm about Rachel's waist as they left the room together.

No one made any comment at first. Then Eunice said, in what she made a
casual tone:

"She seems a very tractable child."

"You can't tell by one instance. Children of that age are always
self-willed. And allowing a child to lie around one's lap, when she
should have said her prayers and gone to bed at the proper hour, is a
most reprehensible habit. And I don't suppose she ever says a prayer."

Eunice thought of the daily prayers for her father's safe journey. Would
that be set down as a sort of idolatry?

Chilian picked up his papers; he had grown fastidious, and rarely left
his belongings about to annoy Elizabeth. Eunice rolled up her work and
dropped it in the bag that hung on the post of her chair, straightened
up a few things, stood the logs in the corner and put up the wire
fender, so there should be no danger of fire; while Elizabeth set all
things straight in the kitchen.

Cynthia meanwhile was undressed and mounted the steps to the high bed.
Then she flung her arms about Rachel's neck.

"Oh, come and sleep in my bed to-night!" she cried pleadingly. "It's so
big and lonesome, that I am afraid. I wish it was like your little bed.
They wer