The two newcomers, Virginia Lawrence and Nellie Halloran, presented an interesting contrast. Virginia, slim, and tall for her age, with long, flat, yellow braids, handled the snow daintily, even gingerly. Nellie, fat and dimpled, her curls tousled into a flame colored halo, rolled over and over in the snow, and then shook herself like a puppy. Until the advent of Hannah, a subtle antagonism had existed between the two children. Virginia's favorite game was playing "lady" with a train floating gracefully behind her; Nellie's chief joy in life was seeing how long she could stand on her head, her short skirts obeying the laws of gravity all the while. Hannah, however, vibrated obligingly between the two sports, and kept the peace inviolate.
Romping in the snow is hard play, and presently the little girls sat panting on the top step of the Josephs' back porch. Immediately Nellie produced a string of amethyst colored beads from her coat pocket, with the announcement that she would say her prayers while resting.
"What kind of beads are those?" asked Hannah.
"Rosary beads, 'course," responded Nellie. "Hannah, you don't know anything."
"I do, too."
"Huh! you didn't even know about the Mother o' God until I told you."
"I reckon I thought God was an orphan," Hannah pleaded in extenuation. "But, what about God's papa?" she demanded with sudden inspiration. "You're so smarty, tell me about that!"
"Oh, God didn't have to have a father," Nellie answered easily. "Everything is free in Heaven; so He didn't have to have a father to work for Him when He was little."
"Then why did He have to have a mama?"
"To tell Him what to do, 'course. You know how 'tis. If you ask your papa anything, don't he always say, 'Go ask your mama'?"