“I should think you would not even want to play at taking away what belongs to the Blessed Virgin,” persisted Larry, doggedly.  “She is the Queen of May, and no one ought to pretend to be Queen besides.”

“Oh, you silly boy!  There is no use in trying to explain anything to you!” cried Abby, losing patience.

For the next half hour she was not so talkative, however, and after a while she stole away; for in spite of her petulance at Larry’s words, they had suggested a train of thought which made her want to be by herself.  She went up to the oratory and stayed there a long time, amid the twilight shadows.  Finally the ringing of the supper bell put an end to her musings.  She knelt a few minutes before the statue, and then ran down to the dining-room.  She was very quiet all the evening; and, to Mrs. Clayton’s surprise, the family heard no more of the May drama.

The next day, at school, Abby waylaid Marion Gaines in one of the corridors.

“I want to speak to you,” she began.

“Well, what’s the matter, Abby?  What makes you so serious this morning?” inquired Marion.

“Nothing—­only I’ve been thinking about the May piece, and I want to tell you that I’d rather not be Queen,” faltered the little girl,

“You’d rather not be Queen!” repeated Marion, in astonishment.  “Why not?  I thought you were delighted to be chosen.”

“So I was—­yesterday,” the little girl hastened to say; for she would not have Marion think she did not appreciate the compliment.

“Then what has caused you to change your mind so suddenly?” Marion went on.  “What a fickle child you are, to be sure!”

“It is not that,” stammered poor Abby, a good deal confused; “but—­but—­well, you know the Blessed Virgin is Queen of May, and it seems as if we ought not even to play at having any other Queen.”

Marion stared at her incredulously.  “And so missy has a scruple about it?” she said, smiling.

“No,” returned Abby; “but my brother Larry thought so.  And if it looks that way even to a little boy like him, I think I would rather not pretend to be Queen.”

“A May piece without a Queen!  Why, it would be like the play of Hamlet with Hamlet left out!” declared Marion.  “Did you not think that if you declined the part we might give it to some one else?”

Abby colored and was silent.  This had, indeed, been the hardest part of the struggle with herself.  But there was an element of the heroic in her character.  She never did anything by halves; like the little girl so often quoted, “when she was good, she was very, very, good.”

Marion stood a moment looking at her.  “And do you really mean,” she said at length, “that you are ready to give up the role you were so delighted with yesterday, and the satisfaction of queening it over your companions if only for an hour?—­that you are willing to make the sacrifice to honor the Blessed Virgin?”