doubtful of the effect of the wet head.

"No, I won't! Going to sleep _now!_" and Boo shut his eyes wearily,
feeling that his late trials had not left him in a prayerful mood.

"Then you'll be a real little heathen, as Mrs. Pecq called you, and I
don't know what I shall do with you," said Molly, longing to
cuddle rather than scold the little fellow, whose soul needed
looking after as well as his body.

"No, no; I won't be a heevin! I don't want to be frowed to the
trockindiles. I will say my prayers! oh, I will!" and, rising in his
bed, Boo did so, with the devotion of an infant Samuel, for he
remembered the talk when the society was formed.

Molly thought her labors were over for that night, and soon went to
bed, tired with her first attempts. But toward morning she was
wakened by the hoarse breathing of the boy, and was forced to
patter away to Miss Bat's room, humbly asking for the squills, and
confessing that the prophecy had come to pass.

"I knew it! Bring the child to me, and don't fret. I'll see to him, and
next time you do as I say," was the consoling welcome she
received as the old lady popped up a sleepy but anxious face in a
large flannel cap, and shook the bottle with the air of a general
who had routed the foe before and meant to do it again.

Leaving her little responsibility in Miss Bat's arms, Molly retired to
wet her pillow with a few remorseful tears, and to fall asleep,
wondering if real missionaries ever killed their pupils in the