Francis and Peggy were at Mass and went to communion. They wanted Bobby to “put it over,” and directed the intention of their communion accordingly. Pearl, though not a Catholic, was there too. She came to pray, rather startling the worshipers at her entrance by going up the aisle and making her prettiest little curtsy before the tabernacle. This curtsy had won the hearts of many a stranger in the moment of introduction. No doubt our Lord’s love for her, already great—for the dear Lord who was once a child loves all children in a special way—went out to her in a new excess.
Pearl, at the end of Mass, repeated the curtsy, which would have won her distinction in any earthly court—and why not in the heavenly?—and went outside, where she continued to smile and bow at the returning worshipers as though they were all friends of hers. And so far as she was concerned, so they were, God bless her!
“Good morning, Bobby; good morning, everybody!” she cried, as she shook the hand of Compton, Bobby, Francis and Peggy, dispensing as she did so a running stream of smiles. “It’s going to be all right. I just know it’s going to be all right. Bobby, you’re just sure to put it over.”
“It’s going to be the greatest day of all,” chimed in Francis.
“We’ll be finished before noontime,” added Peggy. “And you’ll see, Mr. Compton,” she went on, fixing large, earnest, questioning eyes upon Compton, “that we haven’t been praying for nothing.”
“I believe you, my dear,” returned Compton humbly.
And Peggy, who knew something about Compton’s religious, or rather irreligious, convictions, wondered.
“I’m hungry,” said Bob.
“So am I,” said Pearl. “You see, I couldn’t go to communion, but I could fast and I did.”
“Then,” said Compton, greatly cheered by the simple, loving little company, “we’ll all breakfast at the restaurant right below here.”