“Where was your Saint Lucy?  I thought it was about her,” asked Jack, who did not like to have Jill’s past troubles dwelt upon, since his were not.

“She is coming.  Saints are not born—­they are made after many trials and tribulations,” answered his mother, looking at the fire as if it helped her to spin her little story.  “Well, the poor child used to sing sometimes to while away the long hours—­sad songs mostly, and one among them which the queen taught her was ’Sweet Patience, Come.’

“This she used to sing a great deal after a while, never dreaming that Patience was an angel who could hear and obey.  But it was so; and one night, when the girl had lulled herself to sleep with that song, the angel came.  Nobody saw the lovely spirit with tender eyes, and a voice that was like balm.  No one heard the rustle of wings as she hovered over the little bed and touched the lips, the eyes, the hands of the sleeper, and then flew away, leaving three gifts behind.  The girl did not know why, but after that night the songs grew gayer, there seemed to be more sunshine everywhere her eyes looked, and her hands were never tired of helping others in various pretty, useful, or pleasant ways.  Slowly the wild bird ceased to beat against the bars, but sat in its cage and made music for all in the palace, till the queen could not do without it, the poor mother cheered up, and the princes called the girl their nightingale.”

“Was that the miracle?” asked Jack, forgetting all about his slippers, as he watched Jill’s eyes brighten and the color come up in her white cheeks.

“That was the miracle, and Patience can work far greater ones if you will let her.”

“And the girl’s name was Lucy?”

“Yes; they did not call her a saint then, but she was trying to be as cheerful as a certain good woman she had heard of, and so the queen had that name for her, though she did not let her know it for a long time.”

“That’s not bad for a Sunday story, but there might have been more about the princes, seems to me,” was Frank’s criticism, as Jill lay very still, trying to hide her face behind the carnation, for she had no words to tell how touched and pleased she was to find that her little efforts to be good had been seen, remembered, and now rewarded in this way.

“There is more.”

“Then the story isn’t done?” cried Jack.

“Oh dear, no; the most interesting things are to come, if you can wait for them.”

“Yes, I see, this is the moral part.  Now keep still, and let us have the rest,” commanded Frank, while the others composed themselves for the sequel, suspecting that it was rather nice, because Mamma’s sober face changed, and her eyes laughed as they looked at the fire.

“The elder prince was very fond of driving dragons, for the people of that country used these fiery monsters as horses.”

“And got run away with, didn’t he?” laughed Jack, adding, with great interest, “What did the other fellow do?”