Part 12 (1/2)

”My dear children, that is not the way to honor our Blessed Mother,”

Mrs. Clayton went on to say. ”Do you think that she looked down with favor upon your work to-day? No. But if you had waited as I told you,--if each of you had made a little altar for her in your heart and offered to her the beautiful flowers of patience, and the votive lights of loving obedience,--then indeed you would have won her blessing, and she would have most graciously accepted the homage of such a shrine.

As it is, you see, you have very little, if anything, to offer her.”

III.

For two or three days Mrs. Clayton suffered the oratory to remain as the children had arranged it. They said their prayers there morning and evening; and to Abby especially the ridges and patches in the carpet, which now seemed to stare her out of countenance, the pink vases, and the candelabra, were a constant reproach for her disobedience. Larry, too, grew to hate the sight of them. He often realized poignantly also that it is not well to be too easily influenced by one's playmates; for if he happened to be late and ran into the room and popped down on his knees in a hurry, he was almost sure to start up again with an exclamation caused by the p.r.i.c.k of one of the numerous tacks which he had inadvertently left scattered over the floor.

When the good mother thought that the admonition which she wished to convey was sufficiently impressed, she had the carpet taken up, repaired as much as possible, and properly laid. Then she hung soft lace curtains at the window, draped the altar anew, took away the pink vases, and put the finis.h.i.+ng touches to the oratory. It was now a lovely little retreat. Abby and Larry never tired of admiring it.

They went in and, out of the room many times during the day; and the image of the Blessed Virgin, ever there to greet them, by its very presence taught them sweet lessons of virtue. For who can look upon a statue of Our Lady without being reminded of her motherly tenderness, her purity and love; without finding, at least for a moment, his thoughts borne upward, as the angels bore the body of the dead St.

Catherine, from amid the tumult of the world to the holy heights, the very atmosphere of which is prayer and peace?

Whenever Abby felt cross or disagreeable, she hid herself in the oratory until her ill-humor had pa.s.sed. This was certainly a great improvement upon her former habit, under such circ.u.mstances, of provoking a quarrel with Larry, teasing Delia, and taxing her mother's patience to the utmost. She liked to go there, too, in the afternoon when she came in from play, when twilight crept on and deepened, and the flame of the little altar lamp that her father had given her shone like a tiny star amid the dusk of the quiet room. Larry liked it better when, just after supper, the candles of the candelabra were all lighted, and the family gathered around the shrine and said the Rosary together.

To Abby belonged the welcome charge of keeping the oratory in order; while Larry always managed to have a few flowers for his vase, even if they were only dandelions or b.u.t.tercups. He and his sister differed about the placing of this offering.

”What a queer boy you are!” said Abby to him one day. ”Your vase has a pretty wild rose painted on it, yet you always set it with the plain side out. n.o.body'd know it was anything but a plain white vase. You ought to put it round this way,” she added, turning it so that the rose would show.

”No, I won't!” protested Larry, twisting it back again. ”The prettiest side ought to be toward the Blessed Virgin.”

”Oh--well--to be sure, in one way!” began Abby. ”But, then, the shrine is all for her, and this is only a statue. What difference does it make which side of the vase is toward a statue? And it looks so funny to see the wrong side turned to the front. Some day we'll be bringing Annie Conwell and Jack Tyrrell, and some of mother's friends, up here; and just think how they'll laugh when they see it.”

Larry flushed, but he answered firmly: ”I don't care!--the prettiest side ought to be toward the Blessed Virgin.”

”But it is only a statue!” persisted Abby, testily.

”Of course I know it is only a statue,” replied her brother, raising his voice a trifle; for she was really too provoking. ”I know it just as well as you do. But I think Our Lady in heaven understands that I put the vase that way because I want to give her the best I have. And I don't care whether any one laughs at it or not. That vase isn't here so Annie Conwell or Jack Tyrrell or anybody else will think it looks pretty, but only for the Blessed Virgin,--so there!”

Larry, having expressed himself with such warmth, subsided. Abby did not venture to turn the vase again. She was vaguely conscious that she had been a little too anxious to ”show off” the oratory, and had thought rather too much of what her friends would say in regard to her arrangement of the altar.

It was about this time that Aunt Kitty and her little daughter Claire came to stay a few days with the Claytons. Claire was only four years old. She had light, fluffy curls and brown eyes, and was so dainty and graceful that she seemed to Abby and Larry like a talking doll when she was comparatively quiet, and a merry, roguish fairy when she romped with them.

”How do you happen to have such lovely curls?” asked Abby of the fascinating little creature.

”Oh, mamma puts every curl into a wee nightcap of its own when I go to bed!” answered the child, with a playful shake of the head.

Larry thought this very droll. ”Isn't she cunning?” he said. ”But what can she mean?”

”Your mother puts your hair into a nightcap!” cried Abby. ”Those are curl papers, I suppose.”

”No, nightcaps,” insisted the little one. ”That's the right name.”

The children puzzled over it for some time; but finally Aunt Kitty came to the rescue, and explained that she rolled them on bits of muslin or cotton, to give them the soft, pretty appearance which Abby so much admired; because Claire's father liked her to have curls, and the poor child's hair was naturally as straight as a pipe stem.

”Come and see our chapel, Claire,” said Abby; the word oratory did not yet come trippingly to her tongue.

Claire was delighted with the beautiful image, and behaved as decorously as if she were in church. Afterward the children took her to walk. They went into the park, in which there were many handsome flower-pots, several fountains, and a number of fine pieces of marble statuary. Claire seemed to be much impressed with the latter.

”Oh, my!” she exclaimed, pointing to them reverently. ”Look at all the Blessed Virgins!”