l.

Teresa's pious mother, in moments of exultation, loved to compare and
commend her offspring to such of the saints and martyrs as their
youthful virtues suggested. And Teresa at twelve had, as it were,
graduated from the little saints, Agnes and Rose and Cecilia, and was
now compared, in her mother's secret heart, to the gracious Queen of
all the Saints. "As she was when a little girl," Mrs. Costello would
add, to herself, to excuse any undue boldness in the thought.

And indeed, Teresa, as she was to-night, her blue eyes still clouded
with Ellen Montgomery's sorrows, her curls tumbled about her hot
cheeks, would have made a pretty foil in a picture of old Saint Anne.

But this story is about Alanna of the black eyes, the eight years, the
large irregular mouth, the large irregular freckles.

Alanna was outrunning lazy little Leo--her senior, but not her match at
anything--on their way to the dining-room. She was rendering desperate
the two smaller boys, Frank X., Jr., and John Henry Newman Costello,
who staggered hopelessly in her wake. They were all hungry, clean, and
good-natured, and Alanna's voice led the other voices, even as her
feet, in twinkling patent leather, led their feet.

Following the children came their mother, fastening the rich silk and
lace at her wrists as she came. Her handsome kindly face and her big
shapely hands were still moist and glowing from soap and warm water,
and the shining rings of black hair at her temples were moist, too.

"This is all my doin', Dad," said she, comfortably, as she and her
flock entered the dining-room. "Put the soup on, Alma. I'm the one that
was goin' to be prompt at dinner, too!" she added, with a
superintending glance for all the children, as she tied on little
John's napkin.

F.X. Costello, Senior, undertaker by profession, and mayor by an
immense majority, was already at the head of the table.

"Late, eh, Mommie?" said he, good-naturedly. He threw his newspaper on
the floor, cast a householder's critical glance at the lights and the
fire, and pushed his neatly placed knives and forks to right and left
carelessly with both his fat hands.

The room was brilliantly lighted and warm. A great fire roared in the
old-fashioned black marble grate, and electric lights blazed
everywhere. Everything in the room, and in the house, was costly,
comfortable, incongruous, and hideous. The Costellos were very rich,
and had been very poor; and certain people were fond