“No, Father; you told us she was disfigured and bloated from being so long in the water; and you said we were not to see her.”
“Exactly. The facts are these: On one day, fourteen bodies of the flood victims were recovered. Very soon all were identified except that of a girl dressed in a white dress with a blue sash. I went to view the body, and really couldn’t make up my mind whether it was Dora’s, or not. Everybody insisted that it must be Dora. In the meantime, your mother was so broken-hearted by anxiety that it looked as if she would lose her mind. It occurred to me that even the recovery of the body and the Holy Mass over it would set her at rest, so I took the benefit of the doubt, and allowed the corpse in white and blue to be buried as though it were Dora’s. But mind, I never said it was Dora. I allowed the others to do that without contradicting them; and also my intention in having that Mass offered was that if Dora were alive, the Mass should go to the poor abandoned child who took her place.”
“Do you see,” said Dora, “how good our Blessed Mother is? That little girl because she was in blue and white got a Mass and Christian burial.”
“Hey, John Rieler,” called the Rector fifteen minutes later, “haven’t you had enough swimming yet?”
“If it’s all the same to you, Father Rector, I’d like to swim home.” John, while disporting in the water, had taken off his shoes and thoughtfully aimed them at the head of the admiring and envious Clarence.
“It isn’t all the same to me,” responded the Rector. “Here, give me your hand. Now suppose we start.”
And as they spun homeward, Dora told her wondering parents the tale of four months on the open road.
“And,” concluded the child, “when I think of dear Ben, who died a saint, and of Dorcas and her children, who join the Church tomorrow, and of Clarence who is going to join——”
“You bet I am,” Clarence broke in from the other boat.
“I can’t say that I am sorry.”