y
shattered at the foot of the altar. Abby stood and gazed at it
hopelessly, too distressed even to gather up the fragments.

"Oh, what will Larry say!" she cried, wringing her hands. "He thought
so much of that vase! What shall I do?"

While she was thus lamenting she heard Larry's voice. He was coming
straight up to the oratory. In another minute he threw open the door;
he had a little cluster of buttercups in his hand, and was so intent
upon putting them in the vase that he was half-way across the room
before he noticed the broken pieces on the floor. When he did so, he
stopped and glared at his sister.

"O Larry," she stammered, contritely, "it was an accident! See!
Marion Gaines gave me those lovely May-flowers, and I thought you'd be
pleased to have them in your vase. Just as I went to put it back, it
fell over. I'm awfully sorry!"

Larry's eyes flashed angrily, and his face grew crimson.

"Abby Clayton," he broke out, "you are always meddling! Why can't you
let things that don't belong to you alone?"'

A storm of reproaches would no doubt have followed, but just then his
angry glance turned toward the statue. There stood the image of Our
Lady, so meek and beautiful and mild. And there, in a tiny frame at
the front of the altar, hung father Dominic's words of advice: "Try
every day to do some little thing to honor our Blessed Mother."

Larry paused suddenly; for his indignation almost choked him. But in
that moment of silence he had time to reflect. What should he do
to-day to honor the Blessed Virgin, now that his little vase was
broken? He looked again at the statue. The very sight of the sweet
face suggested gentler thoughts, and counselled kindness, meekness, and
forbearance.

"Well, Abby," he blurted out, "I suppose I'll have to forgive you; but,
oh, how I wish I were only six years old, so that I could cry!"

So saying, Larry laid the buttercups at the feet of Our Lady's statue,
and rushed from the room.

The next day it happened that Ellen discovered Abby in tears at the
window of the class-room. Ellen, although quick-tempered and
impulsive, was kind-hearted.

"What is the trouble now, child?" she asked, gently, taking Abby's hand
in hers.

"Oh," sobbed Abby, "I feel so dreadfully to think that you and Marion
don't speak to each other! And it's all my fault; because from
something I said to Marion she thought that, instead of taking one
among ourselves, it would be much nic