and who worked with marvelous contrivances, sometimes a free library
with all the books one could want, sometimes a dim, vaulted space
through which echoed exquisite music--

She so loved that make-believe Moira, moving forward toward glowing
things, that she cried aloud: "That's me! _Me!_" And of course her voice
broke the spell--the dream vanished; there was nothing left but the
fleecy cloud, the meadow lark's song, close by.

There was just time enough before her grandmother needed her, to run
down to Father Murphy's. She knew at this hour she would find him by his
wide doorstep. Fleetly, her bare feet scarcely touching the soft earth,
she covered the distance to his house. She ran up behind him and slipped
her fingers over his half-closed eyes.

He knew the familiar touch of the girl's hands. He patted them with his
own and moved aside on his bench that she might sit down with him.

"Father," she said, very low, her eyes shining. "It's my dream again."

The old priest did not chide her for idling, as her grandmother would
have done. The old priest dreamed, too.

"Tell me," she went on. "Can one go to school over there as long as one
likes? Is it too grown-up I am to learn more things from books?"

The old Father told her one could never be too old to learn from books.
He loved her craving for knowledge. Had he not taught her himself, since
she was twelve? He looked at her proudly.

"Father!" She whispered now, and the rose flush deepened in her face.
"It's Danny Lynch that comes every evening to see me."

Now Father Murphy turned squarely and regarded her with startled eyes.
This slip of a girl was the most precious colleen in his flock.

"And, Father, it's of America _he_ talks all the time!"

The old priest shivered as though from a chill. Sensing his feeling,
Moira caught his hand quickly and held it in a close grip.

"But if I go away it's not forgetting you I'll be! Oh, who in all this
world has been a better friend to Moira O'Donnell? Who has taught Moira
but you?"

"Child--"

"Sure it's grown-up I am! See!" She sprang to her feet and stood slimly
erect. "See?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes. And your old priest had not noticed. Moira--" he
caught her arm, leaned forward and peered into her face as though to
see through it into her soul. "Moira, girl, is it courage I have taught
ye? And honor? And faith?"

Her heart was singing now over the secret she had shared with him. Who
would not have courage