Part 10 (1/2)
”_Si, signorita_,” replied the man.
Her frown disappeared. It was certainly very nice to be addressed by so high-sounding a t.i.tle. She wished she could get Delia to call her _signorita_. But no; she felt sure that Delia never would.
”Pshaw! It's only a joke!” said Larry, after a moment. ”Somebody thinks this is April-fool Day, I guess.”
”Have patience for a leetle minute, please,” said the man, as he cast away the packing bit by bit. The children watched him with eager interest. By and by he took out a little bunch of lilies of the valley, which he handed to Abby with a low bow. Next he came to something shrouded in fold after fold of tissue-paper.
”And here is the fairest lily of them all,” he said, in his poetic Italian fas.h.i.+on.
”What can it be, mother?” asked the little girl, wonderingly.
Mrs. Clayton smiled. ”It is from Sartoris', the fine art store where you saw the beautiful pictures last week; that is all I know about it,”
she replied.
The man carefully placed the mysterious object on the table.
”It is some kind of a vase or an image,” declared Larry.
”Why, so it is!” echoed Abby.
In another moment the tissue veil was torn aside, and there stood revealed a beautiful statue of the Blessed Virgin.
”Oh!” exclaimed Larry, in delight.
”How lovely!” added his sister.
The image was about two feet high, and of spotless Parian, which well symbolized the angelic purity it was intended to portray. To many, perhaps, it might appear simply a specimen of modeling, but little better than the average. However, those who looked on it with the eyes of faith saw before them, not so much the work itself, as the ideal of the artist.
The graceful figure or Our Lady at once suggested the ethereal and celestial. The long mantle, which fell in folds to her feet, signified her modesty and motherly protection; the meekly folded hands were a silent exhortation to humility and prayer; the tender, spiritual face invited confidence and love; the crown upon her brow proclaimed her sovereignty above all creatures and her incomparable dignity as Mother of G.o.d.
”And is this beautiful statue really ours--just Larry's and mine?”
asked Abby.
”So the messenger says,” returned Mrs. Clayton.
”Who could have sent it, I wonder?” inquired Larry.
The Italian pointed to the card attached to the basket. Abby took it off and read:
”To my little friends, Abby and Larry Clayton, with the hope that, especially during this month, they will try every day to do some little thing to honor our Blessed Mother.
”FATHER DOMINIC.”
”From Father Dominic!” exclaimed the boy, in delight.
”How very good of him!” added Abby, gratefully.
Father Dominic--generally so called because his musical Italian surname was a stumbling-block to our unwieldy English speech--was a particular friend of Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, who appreciated his culture and refinement, and admired his n.o.ble character and devotion to his priestly duties. He was an occasional visitor at their house, and took a great interest in the children.