“Oh children, children!” exclaimed Sister Agnes, who caught the drift of the conversation as she came into the room.  “Do not be troubling your precious little heads about the fashions.  We must all trust something to the good sense of your mammas that you will be suitably gowned.  Certainly it is eminently fitting that one should be beautifully attired to honor the visit of the King of kings.  Considered in this light, no robe could be too rich, no ornament too splendid.  But, lest a small thought of vanity should creep in to spoil the exalted motive, the custom is to adopt a lovely simplicity.  If you notice, we never think of the angels as weighed down with jewels.  Bestow some of this anxiety upon the preparation of your hearts; see that you are clothed in the royal robes of grace; deck yourself with the jewels of virtue,—­rubies for love, emeralds for hope, pearls for contrition, diamonds for faith, and purity.  It was with gems like these that the holy maidens, Saints Agnes, Philomena, and Lucy, chose to adorn themselves, rather than with the contents of their trinket caskets.”

Thus the nun continued to speak to the band of little girls, who had eagerly gathered around her; thus was she wont to teach them lessons of wisdom in a sprightly, gay, happy-hearted way, as if generosity, unselfishness and self-denial were the most natural traits imaginable, and the whole world fair because it is God’s world, and we are all His children.  Was it this spirit of joyousness which attracted young people especially to her, and gave her such an influence with them?

“Somehow, when Sister Agnes talks to me,” even so flighty a little personage as Lillie Davis said one day, “I feel as if I could make any sacrifice quite as a matter of course, and without a speck of fuss about it.”

“Yes,” agreed Connie.  “She seems to take your hand in her strong one and to lead you up a stony, hilly path; and then, when you come to the roughest, steepest places, she almost carries you onward; and you are ashamed to complain that you are tired, because, though she is so gentle with you, she does not mind such trifles at all herself—­”

“She makes me think,” interrupted Lillie, “of the pleasant, sunshiny breeze that comes up sometimes on a cloudy morning, and chases away the mists through which everything looks so queerly, and lets us see things as they really are.”

Lillie’s quaint comparison was an apt one, as was proved in the present instance.

When Sister Agnes had gone the subject which the girls had been discussing presented a different aspect, and the keynote of her character which always impressed them—­“Do noble deeds, not dream them all day long,”—­caused them now to feel dissatisfied with themselves and to cast about for something to do.  This reminded Constance again of Annie Brogan and the white dress that Lillie had regarded with so much scorn.

“Girls,” said she, “wouldn’t it be nice if we could give a dress and veil, and whatever is necessary, to some poor child who is to make her First Communion on the same day as ourselves?  Perhaps, too, we could arrange to have her make it with us.  Don’t you think this would make us happy, and be a good way to prepare?”