Mary's Rainbow Part 5

"The tree will be right there in the bay window, Mary."

"Yes, and we hang our stockings around the fireplace."

"But we don't get a peep at our presents until after the Ma.s.ses on Christmas morning."

"We have Midnight Ma.s.s you know, Mary, and then we have a lunch and go back to bed. At six o'clock Father Hartley begins and says two more Ma.s.ses."

"Midnight Ma.s.s! Oh, I have never been to Midnight Ma.s.s. It must be lovely. Four o'clock Ma.s.s was the earliest at our church, and Mother and Father and Uncle Frank and I went. It was pitch dark, and the stars were shining, and the snow was so nice and crunchy. That reminds me. We must do all we can this afternoon, Sister, because Uncle is going to take us for a long sleigh ride to-morrow."

A chorus of "Goody!" greeted this statement.

"Let's tell stories while we work, Sister," proposed Dora. "Christmas stories. You begin, please."

"Oh, no, save Sister Austin's for the last. Begin with the youngest.

That's you, Effie." And the little five-year-old began, "Oncey-ponny-time."

When at last Sister Austin's turn came, she told them the beautiful story which never grows old--the story which gives the true meaning to Christmas. The sun had set when she finished, and Mary leaned toward her, asking in a low voice, "Do you know what time it is, Sister? Aunt Mary said she would come for me when it is time to watch for Uncle; but I am afraid she might forget."

"No danger of that, dear. It is only a quarter to five. At this time of year, the days are very short, you know."

Before another hour had pa.s.sed, Sister Madeline came for the little girl.

"I have sent Peter with the sleigh to meet Uncle Frank, for it is a long, cold walk from the station. The small room at the right of the front door will be the very best place to watch for him. There is no light there, and we can see straight down the drive to the gate."

"And the sleighbells will tell us when he is coming, Aunt Mary."

Together they peered out into the darkness. After a long silence, Mary asked, "Aunt Mary, did you know that Father Lacey was going to let me make my First Communion when I was so sick, but I was unsenseless all the time? Oh, if I had not been that way, I could go to Holy Communion on Christmas! [1] Why do you think I never woke even for one little minute?"

"G.o.d alone can answer that question, darling. Clearly it was not His will that you should make your First Communion at that time; for Mother told me that everything possible was done to rouse you. But even though you cannot actually receive our dear Lord on His birthday, you can form the desire to do so, not only on that day but many times every day. Tell Him that you believe in Him, hope in Him, love Him, and are sorry for having offended Him, and that you wish you could receive Him.

You will then be making a Spiritual Communion which so pleases our Divine Lord that He once said to a Saint, who was in the habit of making Spiritual Communions: 'My daughter, thy desire has penetrated so deeply into My heart that if I had not inst.i.tuted this Sacrament of Love, I would do it now for thee alone, to become thy food, to have the pleasure of dwelling in thy breast, to take my loving repose in thy heart. I find such pleasure in being desired, that so often as a heart forms this desire, so often do I lovingly behold it to draw it unto Myself.'"

"I am so glad you told me that, Aunt Mary. I won't forget. Listen! I thought I heard the bells----Yes, there they are again." Mary flattened her nose against the window pane so as to catch the first glimpse of the sleigh. "There it is! there it is!"

The meeting between the two showed Sister Madeline how much Mary had missed her uncle that day.

"And now for supper! I think the children are hoping that you and Mary will join them, Frank; but no doubt you would prefer to have it together in the priest's dining-room."

"Not a bit of it! I am in for all the fun going. 'Make me a child again just for to-night,' and to-morrow and the day after. If we can make the little folks happy by joining them at their meals, we shall certainly do so. I suppose I must be proper and call you Sister Madeline before them."

No child at that supper table could remember a jollier meal; and when it was over, the Doctor went with them to the recreation room, where he played the piano and sang and told stories until bedtime. On the way to the front door with him, Mary was very quiet.

"Don't forget that you are to prove to-night whether I have been paying you a visit at ten P. M."

"Uncle," whispered the little girl, "_don't_ you think I could go down to Father Hartley's with you? Oh, I would sleep on a lounge or anything."

"But hasn't Aunt Mary told you of her little plan? Then I shall have to spoil her surprise. She is going to sleep in the very next room to yours and leave the door open between. Try it for just one night, dear."

The Doctor's first question the next morning was, "Did I call on you in your dreams, last night, Goldilocks?"

"Oh, you rogue, you rogue! You know very well who came and kissed me good-night; and you put her up to it!"

The Doctor tried to look surprised. "I put whom up to it?"

"Oho! don't try to pretend you don't know, sir! Your eyes are twinkling, and so are Aunt Mary's. But I caught her right around the neck when she leaned over; for I wasn't sound asleep, and I heard her beads rattle."

"But what was Aunt Mary doing up at the very late hour of ten o'clock?

Don't you know that in convents the rule is, 'Early to bed, early to rise'?"

"But p'r'aps it wasn't quite ten o'clock, Uncle. No, no, I have caught you both this time!"

[1] The decree of Pope Pius X., concerning the First Communion of little children, had not at this time been issued.

CHAPTER V.

CHRISTMAS.

Mary never forgot that Midnight Ma.s.s. The beautiful altar decked with countless lights and ma.s.ses of crimson roses; the kind, old, white-haired priest; the incense, the music, the wonderful Crib, which she could see from where she knelt beside her uncle in one of the front pews--all made her wish that her father and mother were there, too.

After the two morning Ma.s.ses, the children rushed to the recreation room for a peep at their gifts before breakfast. The great tree at the far end of the room first caught their eyes. It was bright with colored lights, and was turning slowly around in the metal box in which it stood, and from which came forth the sweet tones of the _Adeste, Holy Night_, and other Christmas hymns. The branches of the tree bent low with the weight of gifts and goodies.

"Oh! oh! see the big bunches of white grapes and the raisins and the oranges and--and everything!"

"Yes, and all those boxes tied up in white paper with holly ribbon, and our names on them. Last year the tree wasn't half so splendid."

"You must thank Doctor Carlton for all the extra things," Sister Austin explained. "He is one of Santa Claus' helpers, you know; and besides many of the presents and good things, he brought with him the lights and the musical stand which have been used every year for Mary's tree."

The covers of their boxes from home had been loosened so that the children could remove them easily; and such ohs! and ahs! and cries of delight as filled the big room! There were two boxes for Mary, who could scarcely wait until her uncle had opened them. He first pried off the cover of the one bearing a foreign label; and with eager hands, the little girl unwrapped a beautiful, white marble statue of Our Lady of Lourdes, her mother's gift. Then came a small mosaic picture of her favorite Madonna and a blackeyed, dark-haired doll dressed in Italian costume, from her father; an alb.u.m of Kodak pictures of the babies with a tiny card saying, "To our big sister from Berta and Beth;" a dear, little, white, knitted sack for Amelia Anabelle from Aunt Mandy; and a gay card from Tom. Two flat boxes for her uncle and aunt contained some fine large photographs of famous paintings and other gifts suitable for them.

The second box was filled with books and games which the Doctor had told Santa Claus to bring her. Nor had the little suitcase been forgotten; and opening it, Mary found a travelling case containing brush, comb, tooth and nail-brush holders, and all that she would need on the journey. A dear little prayer book from her aunt and holy pictures and medals from a number of the Sisters made her feel that she had fared very well indeed; and in spite of her great longing for the dear ones so far away, Christmas was a very happy day for her.

The greatest fun came just after supper when the sound of sleighbells outside the windows surprised the children. Presently, Mother Johanna herself ushered Santa Claus into the room--a dear, roly-poly, little old man, his hair and beard shining with frost. Effie and the younger children took refuge in the folds of Sister Austin's habit; but Mary, fearing that he might think he was not welcome, overcame her shyness, and running to him, caught his hand in both of hers and led him to the tree. The Doctor mounted a ladder, and beginning at the very top of the tree, handed Santa Claus the presents and good things which he, with funny little speeches, then presented to the children. But the tree was not stripped by any means. All the lights and tinsel and gay b.a.l.l.s and other ornaments were left on it to delight the little folks during the holidays.

The happy day closed with Benediction, and Mary went to bed looking forward to her visit to Gene's home.

But when the Doctor came up from the chaplain's cottage the following morning, he told her that it had grown so much colder during the night that he really feared to take her with him. "It is ten below zero, and your poor little nose would be frozen during the long drive from the station to Mr. Donnelly's. I shall be back early."

At noon, however, Sister Madeline came to tell Mary that her uncle had just telephoned to say that Mr. Donnelly was far worse than he had expected to find him, and that they were preparing to take him to a hospital in the city.

"And----and won't Uncle come back here this evening, Aunt Mary?"

"He wishes you to meet the four o'clock train and return home with him.

Several things make it impossible for him to stop off here again. So we must lose our dear little guest."

"I am truly sorry to go, Aunt Mary, for I have had such a good time in spite of----of----oh, it will be so lonely at home now without Gene.

Uncle can be there only in the morning for a little while and at noon and in the evening."