“Abby Clayton,” he broke out, “you are always meddling!  Why can’t you let things that don’t belong to you alone?"’

A storm of reproaches would no doubt have followed, but just then his angry glance turned toward the statue.  There stood the image of Our Lady, so meek and beautiful and mild.  And there, in a tiny frame at the front of the altar, hung father Dominic’s words of advice:  “Try every day to do some little thing to honor our Blessed Mother.”

Larry paused suddenly; for his indignation almost choked him.  But in that moment of silence he had time to reflect.  What should he do to-day to honor the Blessed Virgin, now that his little vase was broken?  He looked again at the statue.  The very sight of the sweet face suggested gentler thoughts, and counselled kindness, meekness, and forbearance.

“Well, Abby,” he blurted out, “I suppose I’ll have to forgive you; but, oh, how I wish I were only six years old, so that I could cry!”

So saying, Larry laid the buttercups at the feet of Our Lady’s statue, and rushed from the room.

The next day it happened that Ellen discovered Abby in tears at the window of the class-room.  Ellen, although quick-tempered and impulsive, was kind-hearted.

“What is the trouble now, child?” she asked, gently, taking Abby’s hand in hers.

“Oh,” sobbed Abby, “I feel so dreadfully to think that you and Marion don’t speak to each other!  And it’s all my fault; because from something I said to Marion she thought that, instead of taking one among ourselves, it would be much nicer to choose the Blessed Virgin for our May-Queen.”

“And was that Marion Gaines’ plan?” asked Ellen, in surprise.

“Why, yes!  But surely she must have told you!” said the little girl.

“I see now that she tried to,” replied Ellen, with a sigh at her own impetuosity.  “But I was too vexed to listen.  I did not really understand before.  Dry your tears, Abby; I’ll do my best to make amends now.  How foolish I’ve been!” she ejaculated, as Abby ran off in gay spirits.  “And how I must have disedified the other girls!  I must try to make up for it.”

She found the verses she had written; and, on looking them over, concluded that, after all, they needed only the change of a few words here and there.  Then she wrote a little note to Marion, as follows: 

“DEAR MARION:—­I did not realize until today what you wanted to do about the May piece.  If my verses would be of any use at this late hour, you are welcome to them.  I should like to do all I can to help now, to make up for lost time.”

  “ELLEN.”

Marion gladly accepted the overtures of peace.  The May drama was duly finished, the rehearsals went on smoothly, and on the last day of the Month of Mary the performance took place.