eaven; and this Divine Hand will never be
taken away from the head which it has blessed.

This trial was indeed a heavy one, but I must admit that in spite
of my tears I felt a deep inward peace, for I had made every
effort in my power to respond to the appeal of my Divine Master.
This peace, however, dwelt in the depths of my soul--on the
surface all was bitterness; and Jesus was silent--absent it would
seem, for nothing revealed that He was there.

On that day, too, the sun dared not shine, and the beautiful blue
sky of Italy, hidden by dark clouds, mingled its tears with mine.
All was at an end. My journey had no further charm for me since it
had failed in its object. It is true the Holy Father's words: "You
will enter if it is God's Will," should have consoled me, they
were indeed a prophecy. In spite of all these obstacles, what God
in His goodness willed, has come to pass. He has not allowed His
creatures to do what they will but only what He wills. Sometime
before this took place I had offered myself to the Child Jesus to
be His little plaything. I told Him not to treat me like one of
those precious toys which children only look at and dare not
touch, but to treat me like a little ball of no value, that could
be thrown on the ground, kicked about, pierced, left in a corner,
or pressed to His Heart just as it might please Him. In a word I
wished to amuse the Holy child and to let Him play with me as He
fancied. Here indeed He was answering my prayer. In Rome Jesus
pierced His little plaything. He wanted to see what was inside
. . . and when satisfied, He let it drop and went to sleep. What
was
He doing during His sweet slumber, and what became of the ball
thus cast on one side? He dreamed that He was still at play, that
He took it up or threw it down, that He rolled it far away, but at
last He pressed it to His Heart, nor did He allow it again to slip
from His tiny Hand. Dear Mother, you can imagine the sadness of
the little ball lying neglected on the ground! And yet it
continued to hope against hope.

After our audience my Father went to call on Brother Simeon--the
founder and director of St. Joseph's College--and there he met
Father Reverony. He reproached him gently for not having helped me
in my difficult task, and told the whole story to Brother Simeon.
The good old man listened with much interest and even made notes,
saying with evident feeling: "This kind of thing is not seen in
Italy."

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