Another time we were going into the country to see some friends.  Mamma told Marie to put on my prettiest frock, but not to let me have bare arms.  I did not say a word, and appeared as indifferent as children of that age should be, but I said to myself, “I should have looked much prettier with bare arms.”

With such a disposition I feel sure that had I been brought up by careless parents I should have become very wicked, and perhaps have lost my soul.  But Jesus watched over His little Spouse, and turned even her faults to advantage, for, being checked early in life, they became a means of leading her towards perfection.  For instance, as I had great self-love and an innate love of good as well, it was enough to tell me once:  “You must not do that,” and I never wanted to do it again.  Having only good example before my eyes, I naturally wished to follow it, and I see with pleasure in my Mother’s letters that as I grew older I began to be a greater comfort.  This is what she writes in 1876:  “Even Therese is anxious to make sacrifices.  Marie has given her little sisters a string of beads on purpose to count their acts of self-denial.  They have really spiritual, but very amusing, conversations together.  Celine said the other day:  ‘How can God be in such a tiny Host?’ Therese answered:  ‘That is not strange, because God is Almighty!’ ’And what does Almighty mean?’ ’It means that He can do whatever He likes.’

“But it is more amusing still to see Therese put her hand in her pocket, time after time, to pull a bead along the string, whenever she makes a little sacrifice.  The children are inseparable, and are quite sufficient company for one another.  Nurse has given Therese two bantams, and every day after dinner she and Celine sit by the fire and play with them.

“One morning Therese got out of her cot and climbed into Celine’s.  The nurse went to fetch her to be dressed, and, when at last she found her, the little thing said, hugging her sister very hard:  ’Oh, Louise! leave me here, don’t you see that we are like the little white bantams, we can’t be separated from one another.’”

It is quite true that I could not be separated from Celine; I would rather leave my dessert unfinished at table than let her go without me, and I would get down from my high chair when she did, and off we went to play together.  On Sundays, as I was still too small to go to the long services, Mamma stayed at home to take care of me.  I was always very good, walking about on tip-toe; but as soon as I heard the door open there was a tremendous outburst of joy—­I threw myself on my dear little sister, exclaiming:  “Oh, Celine! give me the blessed bread, quick!"[8] One day she had not brought any—­what was to be done?  I could not do without it, for I called this little feast my Mass.  A bright idea struck me:  “You have no blessed bread! —­make some.”  Celine immediately opened the cupboard, took out the bread, cut a tiny bit off, and after saying a Hail Mary quite solemnly over it, triumphantly presented it to me; and I, making the sign of the Cross, ate it with devotion, fancying it tasted exactly like the real blessed bread.