It had been rumored in the school that Abby was not to be Queen, and there was much speculation as to which of the little girls had been selected instead.  As the drama progressed, and the plan was unfolded, the audience was taken completely by surprise.  Everyone had been eager to see the May-Queen; but there was a general murmur of appreciation when, at the close, the curtain rose upon a beautiful tableau; a shrine glittering with many lights, in the midst of which was enthroned a lovely image of Our Lady, at whose feet the children laid their crowns of flowers—­a crown to honor each transcendent virtue,—­and paid their homage to their beautiful Queen of May.

A few days later Father Dominic called at the Claytons.

“Well, children,” he asked, incidentally, “have you done anything to please the Blessed Virgin during the past month?”

Abby and Larry were silent, but their mother kindly answered: 

“I think they have tried, Father Dominic.  And as for your lovely May-Day gift, the presence of the statue seems to have drawn down a blessing upon the house.”

TILDEREE.

I.

Quite happy indeed was the home of Tilderee Prentiss, though it was only a rough log house on a ranch, away out in Indian Territory.  Her father was employed by the owner of the ranch.  He had, however, a small tract of land for himself, and owned three horses and several cows.  Her mother’s duties included the management of a small dairy and poultry yard, the products of which were readily sold at the military post some miles distant.

There were two other children:  Peter, thirteen years old; and Joanna, or Joan as she was called, who had just passed her eleventh birthday.  They took care of the fowl, and were proud when at the end of the week they could bring to their mother a large basket of eggs to carry to the Fort.

The only one of the family who could afford to do nothing was six-year-old Tilderee, though they thought she did a good deal—­that is, all except Joan; for she seemed to make everybody’s else burden lighter by her merriness, her droll sayings, and sweet, loving little ways.

Yet she was continually getting into mischief; and to see her trotting to and fro, eager to be of use, but always lending a little hindering hand to everything, one would hardly consider her a help.  “How should I ever get on without the child!” her mother would often exclaim; while at the same moment Tilderee might be dragging at her gown and interfering with her work at every step.

How frequently Mrs. Prentiss laughed, though with tears in her eyes, as she thought of the time when Tilderee, a toddling baby, was nearly drowned by tumbling head-foremost into a pailful of foaming milk, and no one would have known and rushed to save her but for the barking of the little terrier Fudge!  Then there was the scar still to be found beneath the soft ringlets upon her white forehead, a reminder of the day when she tried to pull the spotted calf’s tail.  How frightened “papa” was at the discovery that his mischievous daughter had been at his ammunition chest, played dolls with the cartridges, and complained that gunpowder did not make as good mud pies as “common dirt!”