Among them were her "little books," but they could not be
found, and her eyes looked much too tired to use them, especially as
the loss again brought the ready moisture. "My head feels so funny,
I can't think of anything," she said.
"Shall I do as I used when Sydney was little?" and Mrs. Evelyn knelt
down with her, and said one or two short prayers.
Babie murmured her thanks, nestled up to her and kissed her, but
added imploringly, "My Psalm. Armie and I always say our Psalm at
bed-time, and think of each other. He did it out on the moraine."
"Will it do if you lie down and I say it to you?"
There was another fond, grateful nestling kiss, and some of the
Psalms were gone through in the soft, full cadences of a voice that
had gained unconscious pathos by having many times used them as a
trustful lullaby to a weary sufferer.
If Babie heard the end, it was in the sweetness of sleep, and when
Mrs. Evelyn left her, it was with far less judicial desire to inquire
into the subject of that endless conversation which had lasted, with
slight intermission, from London to Paris. She was not long left in
ignorance, for no sooner had Sydney been assured that nothing ailed
Barbara but fatigue, than she burst out, "Mamma, she is the nicest
girl I ever saw.
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