Nannie told me that nothing would induce Sara to pray that she
might be made good. She was always very ready to make such
petitions on the behalf of Betty and Hugh, but for herself, no.
She is not like Betty, who at her age prayed, "Dear God, please
make me a good little girl, but if you can't manage it, don't
bother about it; Nannie will soon do it."

Difficult and tedious as the task may have appeared to Betty, I
think it was assuredly within the power of God to make her good
without the intervention of Nannie. Dear Betty!

Sara was then put to bed, and while Nannie brushed her hair, Sara
brushed the hearth-brush's hair. Sara was very anxious to have it
in her bath with her, but here Nannie was firm.

Later the hearth-brush was dressed in a nightgown and laid beside
Sara in her little bed. The last thing she did before going to
sleep was to gaze at her darling "blush" with rapture and say,
"Nasty -- 'ollid -- bunny!"

Her eyelashes fluttered and then gently fell on her cheek, as a
butterfly hovers and then settles on the petal of a rose.

"Leave it here, miss," said Nannie; "she'll see it when she
wakes."

I left the despised bunny and went to dress for dinner. Betty was
waiting for me outside. "Is the cooking-stove for my very own
self, Aunt Woggles?"