tie can see that, too. An' so, I'm
thinkin', does Father Waite."

"I know he does, Katie."

"Faith, an' how do ye know it, child?"

"He talked with me--a long time, this morning. He said God had taught
me what I know."

"Aye, is it so? Thin me own suspicions air right; he's out o' tune!
Did ye say, girlie dear, that he didn't scold ye fer yer funny
notions?"

"No, Katie, he said they were right."

"Did he so! Thin, lassie dear, things is goin' to happen. An' he's a
good man--troth, they make no better in this world!"

The old Sister lapsed into thought. Carmen looked out wonderingly over
the city. She yearned to know what it held for her.

"Katie," she said at length, bending again over the woman, "will you
help me find Mr. Reed?"

"Och, lassie--what's your name again?"

"Carmen," replied the girl, "Carmen Ariza."

"Cair-men Aree--now ain't that a name fer ye! An' yer nationality,
girl?"

"I'm a Colombian, Katie."

"Whist! Where is it? In Afrikay?"

"South America," with a little sigh.

"Now think o' that! An' I'm Scotch-Irish, honey; an' we're both a long
way from th' ol' sod! Lassie dear, tell me about last night. But, no;
begin 'way back. Give us th' whole tale. Old Katie's weak in th' head,
girlie, but she may see a way out fer ye. Th' Virgin help ye, puir
bairn!"

Midnight boomed from the bell in a neighboring tower when Carmen
finished her story.

"Be the Saints above!" exclaimed the old Sister, staring at the girl
in amazement. "Now do ye let me feel of ye to see that ye air human;
fer only a Saint could go through all that an' live to tell it! An'
the place ye were in last night! Now be Saint Patrick, if I was rich
I'd have Masses said every day fer that Jude who brung ye here! Don't
tell me th' good Lord won't forgive her! Och, God! she's a Saint
already."

"She's a good woman, Katie; and, somehow, I felt sorry for her, but I
don't know why. She has a beautiful home in that hotel--"

"Hotel, is it! Hivins above! But--och, sure, it was a hotel, honey.
Only, ye air better off here wi' old Katie."

"And now you will help me?"

"Help you, lassie! God bless ye, yes! But--unless it's wi' Father
Waite, I don't know what I can do. Ye air in bad with th' Sister
Superior fer yer talk at th' breakfast table. Ye're a fresh little
heathen, honey. An' she's suspicious of Father Waite, too. We all air.
An' he th' best man on airth! But his doctrine ain't just sound,
sweatheart. Hivins, doctrine!