h, his finger and thumb between the leaves of the book, and
looked toward me. I hastened to avail of the opportunity to speak my
thoughts.

"This, then, is the meaning of our strange wandering in the woods all
day, Father," said I. "You were being providentially led from the path
and guided to the bedside of this poor girl, that she might not die
without the consolations of religion."

"I cannot but believe so," he replied, gravely. "We missionaries
witness strange things sometimes. And what wonder? Is not the mercy
of God as great, the intercession of Mary as powerful, as ever? To me
this incident is but another beautiful example of the efficacy of
prayer."

Before long Father Friday was again summoned within, and thus all night
he watched and prayed beside the resigned little sufferer, whose life
was slipping so fast away. In the grey of the early morning she died.

"Mussy me, I feel like I'd lost one of my own!" sobbed Mirandy.

"Yes, it's cur'ous how fond of her we grew; though she jest lay there
so uncomplainin', an' never took much notice of nothin'," said Josh,
drawing his brawny arm across his eyes.

An hour later he led the way before Father Friday and myself, and
conducted us to the bridle-path, which joined the turnpike several
miles below the town. By noon we were safely at home.

Two days after, however, I again accompanied Father Friday to the
forest, when, with blessing, the little wanderer was laid to rest among
the pines. One thing he had vainly tried to discover. Though during
that night her mind had been otherwise clear and collected, memory had
utterly failed upon one point: she could not remember her name. As we
knew none to put upon the rude cross which we placed to mark her grave,
Father Friday traced on the rough wood, with paint made by Josh from
burnt vine twigs, the simple inscription: "A Child of Mary."

HANGING MAY-BASKETS.

I.

"I am so glad May-day is coming!" exclaimed Ellen Moore. "What sport
we shall have hanging May-baskets!"

"What do you mean?" inquired Frances, who lived in Pennsylvania, but
had come to New England to visit her cousins.

"Never heard of May-baskets?" continued Ellen, in astonishment. "Do
you not celebrate the 1st of May in Ridgeville?"

"Of course. Sometimes we go picking wild flowers; and at St. Agnes'
Academy, where I go to school, they always have a lovely procession in
honor of the Blessed Virgin."

"We have one too, in the