THE SINGING OF THE BEES
“Mother, didst thou not say thy prayers last night?”
“Twice, my child.”
“Once before the little shrine, and once beside my bed—is it not so?”
“It is so, my Fanchon. What hast thou in thy mind?”
“Thou didst pray that the storm die in the hills, and the flood cease, and that my father come before it was again the hour of prayer. It is now the hour. Canst thou not hear the storm and the wash of the flood? And my father does not come!”
“Dear Fanchon, God is good.”
“When thou wast asleep I rose from my bed, and in the dark I kissed the feet of—Him—on the little Calvary; and I did not speak, but in my heart I called.”
“What didst thou call, my child?”