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“Well–well–” stammered Alanna, eagerly, “that’s not a bad thing to do! Me and Marg’ret were both going to do it, weren’t we, Marg’ret? We didn’t think it would be bad to wear our own brothers’ surplices, did we, Marg’ret? I was going to ask my mother if we couldn’t. Joe’s is too little for him, and Leo’s would be just right for me, and they’re white and pretty–” She hesitated a second, her loyal little hand clasping Marg’ret’s tight, her eyes ranging the room bravely. She met her mother’s look, and gained fresh impetus from what she saw there. “And MOTHER wouldn’t have minded, would you, mother?” she finished triumphantly.

Every one wheeled to face Mrs. Costello, whose look, as she rose, was all indulgent.

“Well, Sister, I don’t see why they shouldn’t,” began her comfortable voice. The tension over the room snapped at the sound of it like a cut string. “After all,” she pursued, now joining the heart of the group, “a surplice is a thing you make in the house like any other dress, and you know how girls feel about the things their brothers wear, especially if they love them! Why,” said Mrs. Costello, with a delightful smile that embraced the room, “there never were sisters more devoted than Marg’ret and my Alanna! However”–and now a business-like tone crept in–“however, Sister, dear, if you or Mother Superior has the slightest objection in the world, why, that’s enough for us all, isn’t it, girls? We’ll leave it to you, Sister. You’re the one to judge.” In the look the two women exchanged, they reached a perfect understanding.

“I think it’s very lovely,” said Sister Rose, calmly, “to think of a little girl so devoted to her brother as Margaret is. I could ask Superior, of course, Mary,” she added to Mrs. Costello, “but I know she would feel that whatever you decide is quite right. So that’s settled, isn’t it, girls?”

“Yes, Sister,” said a dozen relieved voices, the speakers glad to chorus assent whether the situation in the least concerned them or not. Teresa and some of the other girls had gathered about Marg’ret, and a soothing pur of conversation surrounded them. Mrs. Costello lingered for a few satisfied moments, and then returned to her chair.

“Come now, girls, hurry!” said Sister Rose. “Take your places, and let this be a lesson to us not to judge too hastily and uncharitably. Where were we? Oh, yes, we’ll go back to where Grace comes in and says to Teresa, ‘Here, even in the Emperor’s very palace, dost dare….’ Come, Grace!”

“I knew, if we all prayed about it, your father’d let you!” exulted Teresa, the following afternoon, when Marg’ret Hammond was about to run down the wide steps of the Costello house, in the gathering dusk. The Mayor came into the entrance hall, his coat pocket bulging with papers, and his silk hat on the back of his head, to find his wife and daughters bidding the guest good-by. He was enthusiastically imformed of the happy change of event.

“Father,” said Teresa, before fairly freed from his arms and his kiss, “Marg’ret’s father said she could have her white dress, and Marg’ret came home with us after rehearsal, and we’ve been having such fun!”

“And Marg’ret’s father sent you a nice message, Frank,” said his wife, significantly.

“Well, that’s fine. Your father and I had a good talk to-day, Marg’ret,” said the Mayor, cordially. “I had to be down by the bridge, and I hunted him up. He’ll tell you about it. He’s going to lend me a hand at the shop, the way I won’t be so busy. ‘Tis an awful thing when a man loses his wife,” he added soberly a moment later, as they watched the little figure run down the darkening street.

“But now we’re all good friends again, aren’t we, mother?” said Alanna’s buoyant little voice. Her mother tipped her face up and kissed her.

“You’re a good friend,–that I know, Alanna!” said she.