allen and
hurt herself, so she lay in bed week after week, with her mother to take
care of her--"

"That's you," whispered Jack, throwing the white carnation at Jill, and
she threw back the red one, with her finger on her lips, for the tale
was very interesting now.

"She did not suffer much after a time, but she scolded and cried, and
could not be resigned, because she was a prisoner. The queen tried to
help her, but she could not do much; the princes were kind, but they had
their books and plays, and were away a good deal. Some friends she had
came often to see her, but still she beat her wings against the bars,
like a wild bird in a cage, and soon her spirits were all gone, and it
was sad to see her."

"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, b