Abby and Larry snickered; Claire giggled without knowing why.  Then Abby applied herself with renewed earnestness and volubility to the litany.  She did not intend any disrespect:  on the contrary, she meant to be very devout.  But she not only believed in the injunction “Let your light shine before men,” but felt that it behooved her to attract Father Dominic’s attention to the fact that it was shining.  Clearer and higher rose her voice; deeper and louder sounded Larry’s; more shrilly piped Claire.

“Abby!” called Mrs. Clayton again, with grave displeasure.  “That will do.  Children, go to your rooms at once.”

The others stole off without another word, but Abby lingered a minute.  Father Dominic was going, and she could not resist the impulse to wait and learn what impression their piety had made.  Leaning over the balusters, she saw him laughing in an amused manner.  Then he said to her mother: 

“Tell Abby she has such a good, strong voice, I wish I could have her read the prayers for the Sodality.  She would surely be heard all over the church.”

He went away, and Abby crept upstairs with burning cheeks and an unpleasant suspicion that she had made herself ridiculous.

Mrs. Clayton suspected that her little daughter had overheard the message.  She therefore spared the children any reference to the subject.  But the next time they met Father Dominic he alluded, as if casually, to the devotions suitable for May, and then quite naturally went on to speak of the virtues of the Blessed Virgin, especially of her humility and love of retirement; saying how, although the Mother of God, she was content to lead a humble, hidden life at Nazareth, with no thought or wish to proclaim her goodness from the house-tops.  The lesson was gently and kindly given, but Abby was shrewd enough and sufficiently well disposed to understand.  She felt that she was indeed learning a great deal during this Month of Mary.

About the middle of the month there was a stir of pleasurable excitement at St. Mary’s School.

“Suppose we get up a May drama among the younger pupils?” suggested Marion Gaines, the leading spirit of the graduating class.

The proposition was received with enthusiasm, and Mother Rosalie was applied to for permission.

“Yes,” she answered, “you have my consent to your plan; but on one condition—­that you arrange the drama and drill the children yourselves.  It will be good practice for you in the art of composition; and, by teaching others, you will prove whether or not you have profited by Professor Willet’s lessons in elocution.”

The Graduates were delighted.

“That is just like Mother Rosalie,” said Marion.  “She is willing to trust us, and leaves us to our own resources, so that if we succeed all the credit will be ours.  Now we must draw up a plan.  Shall we decide upon a plot, and then each work out a portion of it?”