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Teresa was not one of these girls. Her instrument was the violin; moreover, she was busy and absorbed at the Children of Mary’s booth, which by four o’clock began to blossom all over its white-draped pillars and tables with ribbons and embroidery and tissue paper, and cushions and aprons and collars, and all sorts of perfumed prettiness.

The two priests were constantly in evidence, their cassocks and hands showing unaccustomed dust.

And over all the confusion, Mrs. Costello shone supreme. Her brisk, big figure, with skirts turned back, and a blue apron still further protecting them, was everywhere at once; laughter and encouragement marked her path. She wore a paper of pins on the breast of her silk dress, she had a tack hammer thrust in her belt. In her apron pockets were string, and wire, and tacks. A big pair of scissors hung at her side, and a pencil was thrust through her smooth black hair. She advised and consulted and directed; even with the priests it was to be observed that her mild, “Well, Father, it seems to me,” always won the day. She led the electricians a life of it; she became the terror of the carpenters’ lives.

Where was the young lady that played the violin going to stay? Send her up to Mrs. Costello’s.–Heavens! We were short a tablecloth! Oh, but Mrs. Costello had just sent Dan home for one.–How on earth could the Male Quartette from Tower Town find its way to the hall? Mrs. Costello had promised to tell Mr. C. to send a carriage for them.

She came up to the Children of Mary’s booth about five o’clock.

“Well, if you girls ain’t the wonders!” she said to the tired little Sodalists, in a tone of unbounded admiration and surprise. “You make me ashamed of me own booth. This is beautiful.”

“Oh, do you think so, mother?” said Teresa, wistfully, clinging to her mother’s arm.

“I think it’s grand!” said Mrs. Costello, with conviction. There was a delighted laugh. “I’m going to bring all the ladies up to see it.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” said all the girls together, reviving visibly.

“An’ the pretty things you got!” went on the cheering matron. “You’ll clear eight hundred if you’ll clear a cent. And now put me down for a chance or two; don’t be scared, Mary Riordan; four or five! I’m goin’ to bring Mr. Costeller over here to-night, and don’t you let him off too easy.”

Every one laughed joyously.

“Did you hear of Alanna’s luck?” said Mrs. Costello. “When the Bishop got here he took her all around the hall with him, and between this one and that, every last one of her chances is gone. She couldn’t keep her feet on the floor for joy. The lucky girl! They’re waitin’ for you, Tess, darlin’, with the buckboard. Go home and lay down awhile before dinner.”

“Aren’t you lucky!” said Teresa, as she climbed a few minutes later into the back seat with Jim, and Dan pulled out the whip.

Alanna, swinging her legs, gave a joyful assent. She was too happy to talk, but the other three had much to say.

“Mother thinks we’ll make eight hundred dollars,” said Teresa.

“GEE!” said the twins together, and Dan added, “If only Mrs. Church wins that desk now.”

“Who’s going to do the drawing of numbers?” Jimmy wondered.

“Bishop,” said Dan, “and he’ll call down from the platform, ‘Number twenty-six wins the desk.’ And then Alanna’ll look in her book, and pipe up and say, ‘Daniel Ignatius Costello, the handsomest fellow in the parish, wins the desk.'”

“Twenty-six is Harry Plummer,” said Alanna, seriously, looking up from her chance book, at which they all laughed.

“But take care of that book,” warned Teresa, as she climbed down. “Oh, I will!” responded Alanna, fervently.

And through the next four happy days she did, and took the precaution of tying it by a stout cord to her arm.

Then on Saturday, the last afternoon, quite late, when her mother had suggested that she go home with Leo and Jack and Frank and Gertrude and the nurses, Alanna felt the cord hanging loose against her hand, and looking down, saw that the book was gone.