That any one was ill or disquieted in mind was a sufficient appeal to the sympathy and zeal of Father Friday.  He put his hand to his breast a moment, and I knew that he was praying for the soul so sorely tried.

In a few moments Josh returned, saying, “Mirandy says the leetle girl is jest woke up, an’ seems uncommon sensible an’ clear-headed.  Perhaps if yer war ter ask her now, she could tell yer it all plain.”

Father Friday rose, and I followed too, as the man led the way to the little room, the door of which was immediately opened by his wife, who motioned to us to enter.  Never shall I forget the sight that greeted my eyes.  Upon the bed lay a childish form, with a small, refined face, the pallor of which was intensified by contrast with the large dark eyes, that now had a half startled, expectant, indescribable expression.  The sufferer had evidently reached the crisis of a malarial fever; reason had returned unclouded; but from that strange, bright look, I felt that there was no hope of recovery.

How shall I find words to portray what followed!  The others waited beside the door; but Father Friday advanced a few steps, then paused, so as not to frighten her by approaching abruptly.  As he stood there in his cassock, with his hand raised in benediction, and wearing, as I knew, the Blessed Sacrament upon his breast, I realized more fully than ever before the grandeur of the priestly mission to humanity.  The girl’s roving glance was arrested by the impressive figure; but how little were any of us prepared for the effect upon her!  The dark eyes lighted up with joyful recognition, her cheek flushed, and with a glad cry she started up, exclaiming, “Thank God, my prayer is granted!  God has sent a priest to me before I die!”

Had a miracle been wrought before us we could not have been more astounded.  Instinctively I fell upon my knees.  Mirandy followed my example; and Josh looked as if he would like to do so too, but was not quite sure how to manage it.

Father Friday drew nearer.

“I knew you would come, Father,” she continued, with a happy smile.  “This is what I have prayed for ever since I have been lying here.  I thought you would come to-day; for since early morning I have been imploring the Blessed Virgin to obtain this favor for me.”

She sank back on the pillow exhausted, but after a few minutes revived once more.

It was apparent, however, that there was no time to be lost.  I beckoned Josh and his wife out into the kitchen, and left Father Friday to hear her confession.  Soon he recalled us.  I have but to close my eyes to see it all as if it were yesterday:  the altar hastily arranged upon a small deal table; the flickering tallow dips, the only light to do homage to the divine Guest; the angelic expression of the dying girl as she received the Holy Viaticum.

After that we all withdrew, Father Friday and I going out by the fire again.  He resumed his breviary, and I remained silently musing upon all that had passed within the last hour.  After a few moments he paused, with, his finger and thumb between the leaves of the book, and looked toward me.  I hastened to avail of the opportunity to speak my thoughts.