ful and happy now, with the world at your
feet, but if the day ever comes when all these things fall away from you
and you stand in need of a true friend or of any assistance we can
render, remember Saint Zita's is still your home and your old mother's
heart is sick with longing for a sight of her child. Worldly joys must
vanish, worldly hopes decay, but Saint Zita's and Reverend Mother will
be here waiting for you."

How she longs for the peace and quiet of the old home and the comforting
touch of Reverend Mother's kind arms about her! What is it that the nuns
are singing! The "Magnificat." She listens in silence for a few moments,
then, a strange smile curving her lips, she recites in unison with the
choir:

"_Deposuit potentes de sede._ Yea, Lord, Thou hast indeed put down the
mighty."

It is not until after the voices are stilled, long after the world is
wrapped in slumber, that the girl turns from her open window and gathers
together the small store of money on the table beside her, repeating to
herself the while, slowly, half absently:

"I wonder; I wonder."

* * * * *

Another year has rolled around and again the June roses in the garden
at Saint Zita's fill the summer air with their heavy fragrance. The
convent door opens and Reverend Mother steps out into the portico
accompanied by a caller, one of the "old girls" come back to pay a
fleeting visit to the home of her childhood. The nun has changed but
little with the passing of the years, but those who love her best note
with anxious eyes the slight stoop of the shoulders and feebleness of
gait.

The visitor glances idly at a lay-sister who is busily engaged sweeping
the long flight of stone steps leading from the portico to the driveway
below. Her glance passes over the insignificant figure of the
lay-sister, and, looking across to the pine grove on the hill, she
speaks to Reverend Mother.

"Do you know, Mother, every time I stand here and look at those trees I
am reminded of Nita, 'the nightingale of Saint Zita's,' as we used to
call her. That grove was ever her favorite resort and even the odor of
pines makes me think of her. I wish I knew what had become of her. I
witnessed her performance the only time she sang here in America, and
truly, it was wonderful. Then she disappeared completely from the face
of the earth, as completely as if the ground had opened and swallowed
her. Rumors came of her travels in England and