The preparing for bed was a different thing indeed from the careful washing, hair-brushing, and attiring in snow-white nightgowns that was called “undressing” “at home.”  All that Diana could manage in the way of washing apparatus was a rough wooden tub with cold water, a bit of coarse soap, and an old rag by way of a towel!  And even this she had done more to please the children than because she saw any need for it.  This evening she made no pretence of anything after taking off the children’s outer clothes—­Duke’s nankin suit, now sadly soiled and dilapidated, and the old red flannel skirt and little shawl which had replaced Pamela’s white frock.  The frock was still in existence; but by Mick’s orders Diana had trimmed it up gaudily for the child to make her appearance in to the Signor; so the little girl’s attire was certainly very gipsy-like.

“Shall I have to go home to Grandmamma with this nugly old petticoat and no frock?” she asked, when Diana had taken off all her clothes down to her little flannel vest, and wrapped her up for the night in a clean, though old, cotton bedgown of her own.  “And why have you taken off my chemise, Diana?  I’ve kept it on other nights.”

“I’m going to wash it,” said Diana.  “I’d like to send you back as decent as I can.”

Pamela seemed satisfied.  Then she and Duke knelt together at the side of the shake-down Diana called their bed, and said their prayers together and aloud.  The gipsy girl had heard them before—­several times—­but this evening she listened with peculiar attention, and when at the end the little creatures, after praying for dear Grandpapa and Grandmamma, and that God would please soon take them safe home again, went on to add a special petition for “dear Diana,” who had been so kind to them, that she might be always good and happy, and that Mick and nobody should be unkind to her, the girl turned away her face to hide the tears which slowly welled up into her eyes.

“Good-night, dear Diana,” said the two little voices, as she stooped to kiss them.

“Good-night, master and missy.  Sleep well, and don’t be frightened if you’re wakened up.  I’ll be here.”  Then, as she was turning away, she hesitated.  “Do you really think now,” she said, “that it’s any good praying for a wild gipsy girl like me?”

“Of course it is,” said Pamela, starting up again.  “Why shouldn’t it be as much good for you as for any one?  If you want to be good—­and I think you are good, Diana—­you can’t help praying to God.  For all the good comes from Him.  That’s what Grandmamma told us.  And He puts little bits of His good into us.”

Diana looked puzzled.

“Yes,” persisted Pamela, nodding her head.  “There’s like a little voice that speaks inside us—­that tells us when we’re” (Pamela could use the word “we,” as correctly as possible when speaking in general, not merely of Duke and herself) “naughty and when we’re good.”