, I know it's hard for you, my daughter. But perhaps it's best
for the child that she should go away from home--perhaps it's all God's
blessed and holy will. Remember there's a certain person here who isn't
kind to our little innocent, and is making her a cause of trouble. Not
that I think she is actuated by evil intentions. . . ."

"But she is, she is," cried my mother, who was growing more and more
excited.

"Then all the more reason why Mary should go to the convent--for a time
at all events."

My mother began to waver, and she said:

"Let her be sent to a Convent in the island then."

"I thought of that, but there isn't one," said Father Dan.

"Then . . . then . . . then take her to the Presbytery," said my mother.
"Dear, dear Father," she pleaded, "let her live with you, and have
somebody to teach her, and then she can come to see me every day, or
twice a week, or even once a week--I am not unreasonable."

"It would be beautiful," said Father Dan, reaching over to touch my arm.
"To have our little Mary in my dull old house would be like having the
sun there always. But there are reasons why a young girl should not be
brought up in the home of a priest, so it is better that our little
precious should go to Rome."

My mother was breaking down and Father Dan followed up his advantage.

"Then wisha, my daughter, think what a good thing it will be for the
child. She will be one of the children of the Infant Jesus first, then a
child of Mary, and then of the Sacred heart itself. And then remember,
Rome! The holy city! The city of the Holy Father! Why, who knows, she
may even see himself some day!"

"Yes, yes, I know," said my mother, and then turning with her melting
eyes to me she said:

"Would my Mary like to go--leaving her mamma but coming home in the
holidays--would she?"

I was going to say I would not, because mamma could not possibly get on
without me, but before I could reply Aunt Bridget, with her bunch of
keys at her waist, came jingling into the room, and catching my mother's
last words, said, in her harsh, high-pitched voice.

"Isabel! You astonish me! To defer to the will of a child! Such a child
too! So stubborn and spoiled and self-willed! If _we_ say it is good for
her to go she _must_ go!"

I could feel through my mother's arm, which was still about my waist,
that she was trembling from head to foot, but at first she did not speak
and Aunt Bridget, in her peremptory way, went on:

"We