corate the
dresser."

The first suggestion met Mrs. Darcy's tastes to perfection; the second
went straight to her mother's heart.

"May God bless you, Miss; and may it be many a long day till throuble or
sorrow crass the thrishol' of your dure."

The neighbors flocked in on Christmas eve to see Mrs. Darcy's cabin.
Jemmy had risen to the occasion. The polished pewter vessels and the
brass candlesticks shone resplendent from the background of black holly
and veined ivy, and the red pearls of the berries. The comments, like
all human criticisms, varied according to the subjectivity and
prejudices of the visitors.

"Wisha, 't is purty, indeed. God bless those that gave it to the poor
widow."

"Wisha, Jemmy, agra, there's no knowing what you'll be when you grows
up."

"Wisha, thin, Mrs. Darcy, you wor always the good nabor. Would it be
asking too much, ma'am, to give us thim few kippeens on the floor? Sure
Abby says she'd like to have a little bit of holly to stick round the
Infant Jesus this holy and blessed night."

"'T is aisy for some people to be proud. Aisy got, aisy gone. But 't is
quare to be taking what ought to go to the house of God to make a
babby-show for ourselves."

"Yerra, whisht, 'uman, we must hould our heads as high as we can while
we have it. It may go soon, and Mary Darcy may wish to be no betther
thin her nabors."

Ah me! Here is the great world in miniature.

"There is not a word of news going?" I said to Miss Campion, as we
walked up and down the moss-covered walk that lay to the south side of
the little church.

"Nothing, Father," she said, "except, indeed, that father makes his
Christmas Communion in the morning; and oh! I am so thankful to God and
to Father Letheby."

"It is really good news, Beata," I replied. I sometimes called her
Beata, for Bittra sounds horrid. I intend to compromise on her wedding
morn by calling her Beatrix. "Really good news. It will add considerably
to the happiness of one, whose only object in life appears to be to make
every one around her happy. But there is no other news that may be
supposed to interest in a far-off way the old pastor, who gave Beata her
First Communion, and--?"

She blushed crimson, and held down her head.

"Now," I said, "give your old parish priest your arm, for I am getting
more and more feeble every day, and tell him all. Perhaps he could help
you too."

"Oh, Father, if you could; but it is almost too much to expect from God.