, and,
pushing from her with both hands, she said faintly, "Go, go!" and turned
and sped up the aisle silently as a sunbeam, joining her grandmother, who
was coming from the confessional with a gloomy and sullen brow.

Old Elsie had been enjoined to unite with her grandchild in this scheme of
a pilgrimage, and received the direction with as much internal contumacy
as would a thriving church-member of Wall Street a proposition to attend a
protracted meeting in the height of the business season. Not but that
pilgrimages were holy and gracious works,--she was too good a Christian
not to admit that,--but why must holy and gracious works be thrust on her
in particular? There were saints enough who liked such things; and people
_could_ get to heaven without,--if not with a very abundant entrance,
still in a modest way,--and Elsie's ambition for position and treasure in
the spiritual world was of a very moderate cast.

"Well, now, I hope you are satisfied," she said to Agnes, as she pulled
her along with no very gentle hand; "you've got me sent off on a
pilgrimage,--and my old bones must be rattling up and down all the hills
between here and Rome,--and who's to see to the oranges?--they'll all be
stolen, every one."

"Grandmother," began Agnes in a pleading voice--

"Oh, you hush up! I know what you're going to say: 'The good Lord will
take care of them.' I wish He may! He has His hands full, with all the
people that go cawing and psalm-singing like so many crows, and leave all
their affairs to Him!"

Agnes walked along disconsolate, with her eyes full of tears, which
coursed one another down her pale cheeks.

"There's Antonio," pursued Elsie, "would perhaps look after things a
little. He is a good fellow, and only yesterday was asking if he couldn't
do something for us. It's you he does it for,--but little you care who
loves you, or what they do for you!"

At this moment they met old Jocunda, whom we have before introduced to the
reader as portress of the Convent. She had on her arm a large square
basket, which she was storing for its practical uses.

"Well, well, Saint Agnes be praised, I have found you at last," she said.
"I was wanting to speak about some of your blood-oranges for conserving.
An order has come down from our dear gracious lady, the Queen, to prepare
a lot for her own blessed eating, and you may be sure I would get none of
anybody but you.--But what's this, my little heart, my little
lamb?--crying?-