The children puzzled over it for some time; but finally Aunt Kitty came to the rescue, and explained that she rolled them on bits of muslin or cotton, to give them the soft, pretty appearance which Abby so much admired; because Claire’s father liked her to have curls, and the poor child’s hair was naturally as straight as a pipe stem.

“Come and see our chapel, Claire,” said Abby; the word oratory did not yet come trippingly to her tongue.

Claire was delighted with the beautiful image, and behaved as decorously as if she were in church.  Afterward the children took her to walk.  They went into the park, in which there were many handsome flower-pots, several fountains, and a number of fine pieces of marble statuary.  Claire seemed to be much impressed with the latter.

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed, pointing to them reverently.  “Look at all the Blessed Virgins!”

The children laughed.  She stood looking at them with a little frown, not having quite made up her mind whether to join in their mirth, or to be vexed.  When her mistake was explained to her, she said, with a pout: 

“Well, if they are not Blessed Virgins, then I don’t care about them, and I’m going home.”

The children had promptly sent a note to Father Dominic thanking him for his appropriate May-Day gift.  Each had a share in the composition of this acknowledgment, but it had been carefully copied by Abby.  Later they had the satisfaction of showing him the oratory.  While Claire was with them, he happened to call again one evening just as the young people were saying good-night.

“Larry,” whispered Abby, when they went upstairs and she knelt with her brother and cousin before the little altar,—­“Larry, let’s say our prayers real loud, so Father Dominic will know how good we’ve got to be since we’ve had the lovely statue.”

“All right,” said Larry, obediently.

They began, Abby leading off in clear, distinct accents, and Larry following in a heavy alto; for his voice was unusually deep and sonorous for such a little fellow.  Baby Claire listened wonderingly.  Then, apparently making up her mind that the clamor was due to the intensity of their fervor, she joined with her shrill treble, and prayed with all her might and main.

To a certain extent, they succeeded in their object.  The din of their devotions soon penetrated to the library, where their friend Father Dominic was chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Clayton.  In a few moments the latter stepped quietly into the lower hall.

“Abby!” she called, softly.

The little girl pretended not to hear, and kept on.

“Abby!”—­there was a decision in the tone which was not to be trifled with.

“What is it, mother?” she asked, with an assumption of innocence, breaking off so suddenly as to startle her companions.

“Not so loud, dear.  You can be heard distinctly in the library.”