enets of the
faith in which their young mother had lived and died. The rare gift of
holding the attention of boys--O poor Sunday-school teachers all over
the land, ye know how rare that gift is!--ye who must keep restless
little heads and hands quiet while some well-meaning but slow,
long-winded, four-syllabled man "addresses the children." It is
sometimes the superintendent, but more frequently a visitor, who beams
through his spectacles benevolently upon the little flock before him,
but has no more power over them than a penguin would have over a colony
of sparrows.

But if the religion of the boys was simple, that of Tita was of a very
different nature; it was as complex, tortuous, unresting, as personal
and minute in detail, as some of those religious journals we have all
read, diaries of every thought, pen-photographs of every mood, wonderful
to read, but not always comfortable when translated into actual life,
where something less purely self-engrossed, if even less saintly, is apt
to make the household wheels run more smoothly. Tita's religious ideas
perplexed Anne, angered Miss Lois, and sometimes wearied even the priest
himself. The little creature aspired to be absolutely perfect, and she
was perfect in rule and form. Whatever was said to her in the way of
correction she turned and adjusted to suit herself; her mental ingenuity
was extraordinary. Anne listened to the child with wonder; but Pere
Michaux understood and treated with kindly carelessness the strong
selfism, which he often encountered among older and deeply devout women,
but not often in a girl so young. Once the elder sister asked with some
anxiety if he thought Tita was tending toward conventual life.

"Oh no," replied the old man, smiling; "anything but that."

"But is she not remarkably devout?"

"As Parisiennes in Lent."

"But it is Lent with her all the year round."

"That is because she has not seen Paris yet."

"But we can not take her to Paris," said Anne, in perplexity.

"What should I do if I had to reply to you always, mademoiselle?" said
the priest, smiling, and patting her head.

"You mean that I am dull?" said Anne, a slight flush rising in her
cheeks. "I have often noticed that people thought me so."

"I mean nothing of the kind. But by the side of your honesty we all
appear like tapers when the sun breaks in," said Pere Michaux,
gallantly. Still, Anne could not help thinking that he did think her
dull.

To-day she sat