Chapter 4 MARYVALE.

Friday morning, Mary was half dressed when Gene came to wake her.

"There are so many things that I must do before it is time to start, you know, Gene."

"Why, Mary, you have nothing to do but to eat your breakfast and put your comb and brush in your suitcase. Neither have I," laughed the young girl.

"Indeed, I have some very important things to do, Gene, and I wish you would try to go around with your eyes closed and not fasten your suitcase until I tell you."

"Now, Mary, what did I say about gifts? You promised, you know."

"Yes, I know I promised not to let Uncle Frank buy you anything, and not to make anything myself; but his gift was already bought, and mine was already made; so we can't do anything but give them to you, can we?"

"You little mischief! I told you that I would like to have that picture of you and that was all. I thought we would surely find it before this."

"And I looked everywhere for the large ones like it that Mother has put away somewhere, but I couldn't find them. Never mind, Gene, you shall have that picture some day."

After breakfast when the Doctor had said good-bye to Gene, Mary clung to him, making him promise to leave early that evening for Maryvale.

"And I have telephoned to Aunt Mary to expect you on the ten-thirty train. She will send the sleigh with two or three of the large girls to meet you. Be sure to catch that train, for it will take you out there in good time for luncheon. Good-bye until evening."

"Now we must fly around and get ready, Gene. You know we have to stop at little Paul's home to give him and Sister Julia their presents. He may wish us to stay a few minutes, too. Oh, oh! don't fasten your suitcase yet, please!" Mary hurried to her uncle's room for Gene's gift, and returning, peeped in at the door. "Please look out the window a minute, Gene." Carefully laying the package on top of the things in the suitcase, she slammed down the cover and sat on it. "Now, you may fasten it, but I won't let you have even one, teeny, weeny peep. And you must promise not to open the suitcase until Christmas morning."

"But, darling, I can't promise that. There are things in it that I shall need as soon as I get home." Mary's face fell. "But I shall promise not to open your gift until Christmas. Will that do? is it wrapped?"

"Yes, Gene, it is wrapped, so you really can't see the pic--the--the thing, anyway."

"Jim jes' done tol' me dat he's gwine to dribe around to de front now, so yo' bettah lemme holp yo' git yo' t'ings on, Miss May-ree, so's Miss Gene kin git her's on at de same time."

Liza smiled in a knowing fashion at Mary and took up the little girl's pretty, white coat and hat.

"Just a minute, Liza. I must wrap up Amelia Anabelle first. Will you please get the shawl out of the middle drawer?" Mary crossed the room to the door of the playroom, and Gene pretended to be busy with her suitcase.

"Why-oh! oh! oh!" Back ran the little girl to throw her arms about Gene and dance with her around the room. "You dear, darling, dumpling Gene! Now I know who the little friend is that you were knitting the pretty white mittens and leggings and embroidering the beautiful baby cloak and cap for. You are the mischief!" And Mary was off again to the playroom, returning with Amelia Anabelle dressed for the trip. "See how nicely the ruching on her inside cap sticks out-just exactly enough. O Gene, you are too good to me!"

"I could never be that, dearie."

Then came Gene's turn for a surprise. She went into her own room, Mary and Liza following her as far as the door. She took up her hat and turned to the dresser, then gave a glad little cry; for on it lay a handsome, brown leather bag mounted in silver. Opening it, she found an envelope containing a twenty dollar gold piece and the Doctor's card on which was written, "May this bag never contain less."

Nearly two hours later, the train stopped at the village near Maryvale, and Mary at once spied the sleigh filled with the children from the convent. Two of the older ones were waiting on the station platform. One of them took Mary's suitcase, the other her doll, and the little girl threw her arms around Gene.

"Happy, happy Christmas and good-bye, Gene, until Monday. Uncle is going to take me with him when he goes to see your father, you know."

The young girl stood on the platform of the car, waving to the little, white-clad figure until a curve in the track cut off the view.

"Here's a place for you, Mary!" "Oh, sit by me, please!" "You'll be warmer right here, between Frances and me!" "Oh, what a darling doll!" "Let me hold her, please, Mary!" were some of the cries from the sleigh.

At last all were comfortably settled, and a jolly ride they had. Before they had gone very far, Amelia Anabelle had a tantrum which added greatly to the fun. Sister Madeline was at the door to welcome the little girl.

"Mother Johanna told me to give you one of the big girls' rooms, so we shall go there at once to take off your wraps. Let me carry that lovely baby. She looks too heavy for you."

"She is heavy, Aunt Mary; but I wouldn't mind that so much if she wasn't so cross. On the train there was a baby crying; but when Amelia Anabelle began, it just stopped to stare at her. And in the sleigh-well, I was 'shamed of her!" As her aunt laid the doll on the bed, Mary slyly pushed the button. "Did you ever see such a child! I s'pose I shall have to walk the floor with her." And then Mary laughed gaily at the look on Sister Madeline's face. "There now, she will be good until the next time."

But her aunt caught up the doll and soon found the cause of her antics. "You must take her with you when you go to see Mother Johanna after dinner, Mary. The dear old soul won't know what to make of her. Then I shall borrow her to amuse the Sisters at recreation. It is just dinner time, so we shall go down stairs. We close the large refectory when so few of the children are here, and they have their meals in the lunch room."

"'M, 'm, it smells Christmassy down here."

"Yes, Dora and Frances have decorated the lunch room with holly and evergreens. Have you brought an apron with you? They expect you to work, you know."

"I think it is going to be make-b'lieve work, Aunt Mary. Yes, Liza put an apron in my suitcase, because this dress doesn't wash, and I am going to wear it to travel in."

The afternoon passed quickly for the nine little girls gathered around the table in the recreation room, where the roaring flames were dancing up the big chimney. They strung popcorn to help Santa Claus deck the tree, and it is safe to say that quite as much went into their mouths as on the long threads.

"The tree will be right there in the bay window, Mary."

"Yes, and we hang our stockings around the fireplace."

"But we don't get a peep at our presents until after the Masses on Christmas morning."

"We have Midnight Mass you know, Mary, and then we have a lunch and go back to bed. At six o'clock Father Hartley begins and says two more Masses."

"Midnight Mass! Oh, I have never been to Midnight Mass. It must be lovely. Four o'clock Mass was the earliest at our church, and Mother and Father and Uncle Frank and I went. It was pitch dark, and the stars were shining, and the snow was so nice and crunchy. That reminds me. We must do all we can this afternoon, Sister, because Uncle is going to take us for a long sleigh ride to-morrow."

A chorus of "Goody!" greeted this statement.

"Let's tell stories while we work, Sister," proposed Dora. "Christmas stories. You begin, please."

"Oh, no, save Sister Austin's for the last. Begin with the youngest. That's you, Effie." And the little five-year-old began, "Oncey-ponny-time."

When at last Sister Austin's turn came, she told them the beautiful story which never grows old-the story which gives the true meaning to Christmas. The sun had set when she finished, and Mary leaned toward her, asking in a low voice, "Do you know what time it is, Sister? Aunt Mary said she would come for me when it is time to watch for Uncle; but I am afraid she might forget."

"No danger of that, dear. It is only a quarter to five. At this time of year, the days are very short, you know."

Before another hour had passed, Sister Madeline came for the little girl.

"I have sent Peter with the sleigh to meet Uncle Frank, for it is a long, cold walk from the station. The small room at the right of the front door will be the very best place to watch for him. There is no light there, and we can see straight down the drive to the gate."

"And the sleighbells will tell us when he is coming, Aunt Mary."

Together they peered out into the darkness. After a long silence, Mary asked, "Aunt Mary, did you know that Father Lacey was going to let me make my First Communion when I was so sick, but I was unsenseless all the time? Oh, if I had not been that way, I could go to Holy Communion on Christmas! [1] Why do you think I never woke even for one little minute?"

"God alone can answer that question, darling. Clearly it was not His will that you should make your First Communion at that time; for Mother told me that everything possible was done to rouse you. But even though you cannot actually receive our dear Lord on His birthday, you can form the desire to do so, not only on that day but many times every day. Tell Him that you believe in Him, hope in Him, love Him, and are sorry for having offended Him, and that you wish you could receive Him. You will then be making a Spiritual Communion which so pleases our Divine Lord that He once said to a Saint, who was in the habit of making Spiritual Communions: 'My daughter, thy desire has penetrated so deeply into My heart that if I had not instituted this Sacrament of Love, I would do it now for thee alone, to become thy food, to have the pleasure of dwelling in thy breast, to take my loving repose in thy heart. I find such pleasure in being desired, that so often as a heart forms this desire, so often do I lovingly behold it to draw it unto Myself.'"

"I am so glad you told me that, Aunt Mary. I won't forget. Listen! I thought I heard the bells--Yes, there they are again." Mary flattened her nose against the window pane so as to catch the first glimpse of the sleigh. "There it is! there it is!"

The meeting between the two showed Sister Madeline how much Mary had missed her uncle that day.

"And now for supper! I think the children are hoping that you and Mary will join them, Frank; but no doubt you would prefer to have it together in the priest's dining-room."

"Not a bit of it! I am in for all the fun going. 'Make me a child again just for to-night,' and to-morrow and the day after. If we can make the little folks happy by joining them at their meals, we shall certainly do so. I suppose I must be proper and call you Sister Madeline before them."

No child at that supper table could remember a jollier meal; and when it was over, the Doctor went with them to the recreation room, where he played the piano and sang and told stories until bedtime. On the way to the front door with him, Mary was very quiet.

"Don't forget that you are to prove to-night whether I have been paying you a visit at ten P. M."

"Uncle," whispered the little girl, "don't you think I could go down to Father Hartley's with you? Oh, I would sleep on a lounge or anything."

"But hasn't Aunt Mary told you of her little plan? Then I shall have to spoil her surprise. She is going to sleep in the very next room to yours and leave the door open between. Try it for just one night, dear."

The Doctor's first question the next morning was, "Did I call on you in your dreams, last night, Goldilocks?"

"Oh, you rogue, you rogue! You know very well who came and kissed me good-night; and you put her up to it!"

The Doctor tried to look surprised. "I put whom up to it?"

"Oho! don't try to pretend you don't know, sir! Your eyes are twinkling, and so are Aunt Mary's. But I caught her right around the neck when she leaned over; for I wasn't sound asleep, and I heard her beads rattle."

"But what was Aunt Mary doing up at the very late hour of ten o'clock? Don't you know that in convents the rule is, 'Early to bed, early to rise'?"

"But p'r'aps it wasn't quite ten o'clock, Uncle. No, no, I have caught you both this time!"

[1] The decree of Pope Pius X., concerning the First Communion of little children, had not at this time been issued.