For Eugenia Dillon, the giving up of the white silk was, as the girls generously agreed, “the biggest act of all.”  At first Mrs. Dillon would not hear of it; “though,” said she, “I am quite willing to buy the dress for the poor child myself, if you wish, Eugenia.”  But Eugenia explained that this would not do, unless she carried out the plan like the others.  In fact, she found that one of the hardest things in the world is to argue against what we want very much ourselves.  At last, however, her mother good-naturedly yielded the point, saying, with a laugh, “Oh, very well, child!  But I never before knew you to object to having a pretty dress.”  And Eugenia was very sure she never had.

The great day finally arrived.  To picture it, or to describe the joy which filled the soul of each of our first communicants, is not the purpose of this story.  But as the white-robed band entered the convent chapel, to the incongruous throng of fashionable people there assembled their appearance was the strongest possible sermon against vanity.  Their soft white gowns were as simple as the most refined taste could make them, and as beautiful; their fleecy veils enfolded them as with holy thoughts; their wreaths of spotless blossoms signified a fairer crown.  They numbered seven originally, but now among them walked another.  Which little girl was the stranger, however, only one mother knew,—­a humble woman, who, as she knelt amid the congregation, silently invoked a blessing upon the children who by their thoughtfulness had made possible her pious desire that her child might be appropriately and respectfully attired to welcome the coming of Our Lord.

The first communicants remained at the convent till dusk.  During the afternoon somebody noticed, indeed, that Eugenia’s dress, though of mull like the rest, was more fanciful, and her satin sash twice as wide as that of any one else.  But the discovery only caused a smile of good-humored amusement; for it was hardly to be expected that Eugenia would conform absolutely to the rule they had laid down for themselves.

After Benediction, as they prepared to go home, they said to one another:  “What a truly happy day this has been!  How often we shall think of it during our lives!”

A MISER’S GOLD.

I.

“Never mind, mother!  Don’t fret.  We’ll get on all right.  This little house is much more comfortable than the miserable flat we have been living in.  The air is good, and the health of the children will be better.  It is quite like having a home of our own again.  Now that Crosswell & Wright have raised my wages, we shall be able to make both ends meet this winter,—­you’ll see!”

“Yes, dear, I’m sure we shall,” Mrs. Farrell forced herself to respond, though her tone did not express the absolute conviction which the words implied.  But Bernard was in great spirits, and for his sake she assumed a cheerfulness which she was far from feeling, as she bade him good-bye, and from the window watched him hasten away to his work.