Constance, a year older, was more sedate, though with plenty of quiet fun about her.  But, as a general thing, she knew when to be serious and when to play,—­a bit of wisdom which Sister Agnes frequently wished she could manage to impart to the others of the band of aspirants, of whom the gentle nun had special charge.

Constance and Lillie were nearly always together.  Now, as they tripped, onward, they were as happy as the birds in the trees above them, and their voices as pleasant to hear.  Having turned the corner, they began to meet a company of children, who came along, sometimes in groups, again in detachments of twos and threes, all clad in white, with white veils upon their heads and floating about them as they passed joyously on, as if keeping time to the music of their own happy hearts.  Poor children they were, most of them, with plain, ordinary faces, but upon which now shone a light that made one think of old sweet stories,—­of St. Ursula and her throng of spotless maidens; of Genevieve, the child-shepherdess of Nanterre.  Who that has ever witnessed such a scene can forget it!—­this flock of fair, spotless doves amid the dust or mire of the city streets, that by their very passing bring even to the indifferent spectator a thought above gain or traffic,—­a memory perhaps of guileless days and noble aspirations, as, looking up at the blue, calm sky, perchance he likens them to the snowy cloudlets that gather nearest to the sun and are irradiated by its brightness.

“Why,” exclaimed Constance, “here come the first communicants of St. Joseph’s parish!  They must be just going home from Mass.  How happy they all are, and how pretty in their white dresses!”

“They do look lovely,” assented Lillie, readily.  “How could they help it?  And some of the dresses are nice, but surely you see, Connie, that others are made of dreadfully common material, and the veils are coarse cotton stuff.”

“Well, I suppose they couldn’t afford any better,” returned Constance, regretfully.

“I declare there’s Annie Brogan, whose mother works for us!—­don’t you know?” cried Lillie, darting toward a girl who had parted with several others at a cross-street and was walking on alone.

As Constance did know, she hastened to greet her, and to vie with Lillie in congratulating her.  “O Annie, what a happy day for you!”—­“What a favored girl you are!”—­“I almost envy you!”—­“We have three whole weeks to wait yet!” This is about what they said, again and again, within the next few minutes; while Annie turned from one to the other, with an added gentleness of manner, a smile upon her lips, and a more thoughtful expression in her grey eyes.

Yes, she was happy; she felt that this was indeed the most beautiful day of her life.  To be almost envied, too, by such girls as Lillie Davis and Constance Hammond!  This was almost incredible; and so she continued to smile at them, putting in a word now and then, while they chattered on like a pair of magpies, and all three were in perfect sympathy.