peak to her too."

Kitty, who was on her knees on the floor, with her rosary clasped in
her hands, her arms and shoulders bare, and her dark hair hanging down
her back, looked up, considerably startled: "Holy Mother! how you
frightened me!" she exclaimed. "Go to sleep."

"But I _want_ to speak to her," Beth persisted.

"Arrah, be good now, Miss Beth," Kitty coaxed, still on her knees.

"I'll be good if you'll tell me what to say," Beth bargained.

Kitty rose from her knees, went to the side of the crib, and looked
down at the child.

"What do ye want to say to her at all?" she asked.

"I don't know," Beth answered. "I just want to speak to her. I just
want to say, 'Holy Mother, come close, I love you. Stay by me all
night long, and when the daylight comes don't forget me.' How would
you say that, Kitty?"

"Bless your purty eyes, darlint!" said Kitty, "just say it that way
every time. It couldn't be better said, not by the praste himself. An'
if the Blessed Mother ever hears anything from this world," she added
in an undertone, "she'll hear that. But turn over now, an' go to
sleep, honey. See! I'll stand here till ye do, and sing to you!"

Beth turned over on her left side with her face to the wall, and
settled herself to sleep contentedly, while Kitty stood beside her,
patting her shoulder gently, and crooning in a low sweet voice--

"Look down, O Mother Mary,
From thy bright throne above;
Send down upon thy children
One holy glance of love!
And if a heart so tender
With pity flows not o'er,
Then turn, O Mother Mary,
And smile on me no more."

As Beth listened her little heart expanded, and presently the Blessed
Virgin stood beside her bed, a heavenly vision, like Kitty, with dark
hair growing low on her forehead and hanging down her back, blue eyes,
and an earnest, guileless face. Beth's little mouth, drooping with
dissatisfaction ordinarily, curled up at the corners, and so,
thoroughly tranquillised, she fell happily asleep, with a smile on her
lips.

Kitty bent low to look at her, and shook her head several times.
"Coaxin's better nor bating you, anyway," she muttered. "But what are
they going to do wid ye at all?" She stood up, and raised her clasped
hands. "Holy Mother, it 'ud be well maybe if ye'd take her to
yourself--just now--God forgive me for saying it."

Next morning Mrs. Caldwell was sitting at breakfast with Beth and
Mildred. Every moment s