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!"

The children laughed. She stood looking at them with a little frown,
not having quite made up her mind whether to join in their mirth, or to
be vexed. When her mistake was explained to her, she said, with a pout:

"Well, if they are not Blessed Virgins, then I don't care about them,
and I'm going home."

The children had promptly sent a note to Father Dominic thanking him
for his appropriate May-Day gift. Each had a share in the composition
of this acknowledgment, but it had been carefully copied by Abby.
Late