From the steps outside Antoinette was calling, and Dorothea nodded
her head at her uncle. "That's another thing my children are not
going to have. They are never going to have a French governess to
put them to bed and make them say their prayers in French. I don't
believe the Lord likes it. Good night, Uncle Winthrop. I hope my
cousin Claudia will be politer about you than you've been about her,
and I know she hasn't red hands." She waved her own and threw a kiss,
but as she reached the door Laine called her back.

"Come here, Dorothea."

She turned and came toward him. "Did you call me, Uncle Winthrop?"

"I did." He drew her on his knees. "Did you say you said your
prayers in French?"

"Every night, unless for punishment I have to say a German one.
Channing just shuffles his out and runs all the words together so I
don't believe even God can understand them. I don't like French
prayers."

"Then why do you say them?"

"Oh, we have to! All the children I know say their prayers in
French. One day six of us had a race to see which could say them
fastest and say the most. I beat. Want to hear me?"

"Indeed I don't!" Laine's voice was emphatic. "But I don't like
French prayers for little American girls. I never cared for parrots
or--"