“And now you will help me?”
“Help you, lassie! God bless ye, yes! But––unless it’s wi’ Father Waite, I don’t know what I can do. Ye air in bad with th’ Sister Superior fer yer talk at th’ breakfast table. Ye’re a fresh little heathen, honey. An’ she’s suspicious of Father Waite, too. We all air. An’ he th’ best man on airth! But his doctrine ain’t just sound, sweatheart. Hivins, doctrine! It means more’n a good heart! There, honey, lave it to me. But it’s got to be done quick, or th’ Sister Superior’ll have ye in an orphan asylum, where ye’ll stay till ye air soused in th’ doctrine! I can manage to get word to Father Waite to-morrow, airly. Jinny will run over fer me. A bit of a word wi’ him’ll fix it, lassie dear. An’ now, honey swate, off with 28 them funny clothes and plump into bed. Saints above! it’s all but marnin’ now!”
A few minutes later the woman turned to the girl who lay so quiet at her side.
“Honey,” she whispered, “was ye tellin’ me awhile back that ye knew the right way to pray?”
“Yes, Katie dear,” the child murmured.
“Thin do you pray, lass, an’ I’ll not trouble the Virgin this night.”
“Well, Father, what do you think now?” The Sister Superior looked up aggressively, as Father Waite slowly entered the room. His head was bowed, and there was a look of deep earnestness upon his face.
“I have talked with her again––an hour, or more,” he said reflectively. “She is a––a remarkable girl, in many ways.” He stopped, uncertain how to proceed.
The Sister eyed him keenly. “She attracts and repels me, both,” she said. “At times she seems positively uncanny. And she appears to be suffering from religious dementia. Do you not think so?”