"Naughty bunny," said Sara, "vake Yaya's yubbly vitty blush." And
she resumed her singing with religious fervor.

Nannie was really quite upset, and apologized for her charge. I
accepted the apology and resolved then and there to send the
despised rabbit to the Children's Hospital by the next post. Have
you ever given a toy-balloon to a child, and had the child say,
"Balloons don't amuse?" I have.

Nannie then, by way of consolation, suggested that Sara should say
her prayers at my knee. It was the greatest compliment she could
pay any one. Sara consented after much pressure, and she knelt
down and proceeded to pack up her face. No other word to my mind
describes the process. First of all she shut her eyes tight. To
keep them tight seemed to require a great physical effort; this
was done by tightly screwing up her nose. Next she proceeded to
gather her eyebrows into the smallest possible compass, and then
she drew a deep breath, folded her small hands, and started off at
a terrific pace, "Gaw bess parver yan muvver yan nannie yan
hughyan betty yan dicky an aunt woggles yan ellen yan emma yan
croft - yan blusby yan all ve vitty children yan make dem velly
good boys yan make my nastyole bunnyagoodgirl. May Yaya get up?"

"Not yet, baby, think," said Nannie.

Sara thought, and then with a fresh access of solemnity repeated
an entirely new version of the Lord's Prayer. Nannie understood
it evidently, for at a point quite unintelligible to me, Nannie
said, "Good girl!" and Sara jumped up.