nt!'_

_'Oh no, she's not!' cried Lois with much vehemence. 'At least, I mean
I hope she isn't,' she added the next minute. 'You see,' she went on
apologetically, 'I have a very special reason for being interested in
Saints; I don't at all want any of my Saints to look ugly like that.
And, what is more, I don't believe they do!'_

* * * * *

_Many months passed before the time came, when she was least expecting
it, that Lois saw, she actually did see, a 'real live Saint' for
herself._

_How did she know it was a Saint? Lois could not tell how she knew;
but from the very first moment that she found herself looking up into
one of the kindest, most loving faces that she had ever seen, she was
perfectly sure that she had found a Saint at last. She saw no halo--at
least no golden halo; but the white hair that tenderly framed the
white face looked almost like a halo of silver, the little girl
thought. It was not a beautiful face; at any rate not what Lois would
have called beautiful beforehand. It had many wrinkles though the skin
was fresh and clear. The eyes looked, somehow, as if they had shed so
many tears long ago, that now there were no tears left to shed;
nothing remained but smiles. Perhaps that was the reason they were
nearly always smiling. As Lois looked up and saw that gentle old face
bending over her, it gave her the same sort of mysterious feeling that
she had when she gazed up into the cloudless blue sky at noonday, or
into a night sky full of stars. She seemed to be looking up, as high
as ever she could, into something infinitely far above her; and yet to
be looking down into something as well, deep down into an endless
depth. Or rather, she felt that she was neither looking up nor down,
but that she was looking_ through....

_'Why, Saints are a sort of window after all,' Lois said to herself,
as she gave a jump of joy,--'real windows! Only not the glass kind! I
have found out at last what makes a Saint, and what real live Saints
look like. It is not being killed only; though I suppose they must
always be ready to be killed. It is not being made of all the
difficult things inside only; though, of course, they must always be
full of them. It certainly isn't wearing ugly clothes or anything
horrid. I know now what really and truly, and most especially, makes a
Saint, and that is_

LETTING THE SUNLIGHT THROUGH!'

_So Lois had found out something for herself at last, ha