"The little chalk angel!" repeated Abby, scornfully. "Why, that has lost its head!"
"But it's a little chalk angel all the same," argued Larry. "And if I find the head, it can be glued on."
"Oh—well; we don't want any trash like that on our altar!" rejoined his sister. "And the books and rosary can be kept on the shelf in the corner. It would be nice to have the vase, though."
Larry, who at first had been rather offended that his offerings were not appreciated, brightened up when he found he could at least furnish something to adorn the shrine.
The following day was Saturday. There was, of course, no school, and Abby was free to help her mother to get the little room in order. She was impatient to begin. But alas for her plans! About nine o'clock in the morning Mrs. Clayton suddenly received word that grandma was not feeling well, and she at once prepared to visit the dear old lady.
"I may be away the greater part of the day, Delia," she said, as she tied the strings of her bonnet; "but I have given you all necessary directions, I think,—Larry, do not go off with any of the boys, but you may play in the park as usual.—And, Abby, be sure that you do not keep Miss Remick waiting when she comes to give you your music lesson."
"But what about the altary—oh, oratory I mean?" asked Abby, dejectedly.
"There is a piece of muslin in the linen press which you may take to cover the altar," said her mother; "but do not attempt to arrange anything more. I will attend to the rest next week. I am sorry to disappoint you and Larry; but, you see, I can not help it."
She harried away; and the children ran up to the parlor, which was on the second story of the house, to take another look at their precious statue, which had been placed on the marble slab in front of one of the long mirrors. Then they went into the small room which was to be the oratory. The only furniture it contained was the square table which they had brought there the evening before. Abby got the muslin, and began to drape the table to resemble an altar; Larry looking on admiringly, volunteering a suggestion now and then. She succeeded pretty well. Larry praised her efforts; he was prouder than ever of his sister,—although, as he remarked, "the corners would look a little bunchy, and the cloth was put on just a teenty bit crooked."
Presently the little girl paused, took several pins out of her mouth—which seemed to be the most available pincushion,—and glanced disconsolately at the pine boards of the floor.