An' 'Oh,' says I
again, 'God forgive me, but sure how can I help it?' An' there was St.
Pathrick still wid the cross look on him p'intin' to the shamrock in
his hand, as much as to say 'There is but the wan God in three divine
Persons an' Him ye must obey.' So then I took to baitin' me breast an'
sayin' 'The will o' God be done!' an' if ye'll believe me, Sisther,
the next time I took heart to look at St. Pathrick there he was
smilin' for all the world the moral o' poor Barney. So says I, 'afther
that!' Well, Sisther, the will o' God be done! He knows best, Sisther
alanna, doesn't He? But," with a weak sob, "my poor little boy's heart
'ill be broke out an' out when he finds I'm afther dyin' in the
workhouse!"

"We must pray for him," said the Sister softly; "you must pray for him
and offer up the sacrifice that God asks of you, for him. Try not to
fret so much. Barney would not like you to fret. He would grieve
terribly if he saw you like this."

"Heth he would," said Mrs. Brady, sobbing again.

"Of course he would. But if he heard you were brave and cheerful over
it all, it would not be half so bad for him."

Mrs. Brady lay very quiet after this, and seemed to reflect.

When the priest came presently to administer the Sacraments of the
dying to her, she roused herself and received them with much devotion,
and presently beckoned Sister Louise to approach.

"Sisther, when Barney comes axin' for me, will ye give him me bades
an' the little medal that's round me neck, an' tell him I left him me
blessin'--will ye, dear?"

"Indeed I will."

"God bless ye! An' tell him," speaking with animation and in rather
louder tones. "Tell him I didn't fret at all, an' died quite contint
an' happy an'--an' thankful to be in this blessed place, where I got
every comfort. Will ye tell him that, Sisther alanna?"

The Sister bowed her head: this time she could not speak.

* * * * *

It was nearly two months afterwards that Sister Louise was summoned to
the parlour to see "Mr. Brady," who had recently arrived from America,
and to whom his cousin, Mrs. Byrne, had broken the news of his
mother's death.

Sister Louise smiled and sighed as she looked at this big, strapping,
prosperous-looking young fellow, and remembered his mother's
description of him. The black eyes and curly hair and rosy cheeks were
all there, certainly, but otherwise the likeness to "St. Patrick" was
not so very marked.

"Mr. Brady w