"Larry," whispered Abby, when they went upstairs and she knelt with her brother and cousin before the little altar,—"Larry, let's say our prayers real loud, so Father Dominic will know how good we've got to be since we've had the lovely statue."
"All right," said Larry, obediently.
They began, Abby leading off in clear, distinct accents, and Larry following in a heavy alto; for his voice was unusually deep and sonorous for such a little fellow. Baby Claire listened wonderingly. Then, apparently making up her mind that the clamor was due to the intensity of their fervor, she joined with her shrill treble, and prayed with all her might and main.
To a certain extent, they succeeded in their object. The din of their devotions soon penetrated to the library, where their friend Father Dominic was chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Clayton. In a few moments the latter stepped quietly into the lower hall.
"Abby!" she called, softly.
The little girl pretended not to hear, and kept on.
"Abby!"—there was a decision in the tone which was not to be trifled with.
"What is it, mother?" she asked, with an assumption of innocence, breaking off so suddenly as to startle her companions.
"Not so loud, dear. You can be heard distinctly in the library."
Abby and Larry snickered; Claire giggled without knowing why. Then Abby applied herself with renewed earnestness and volubility to the litany. She did not intend any disrespect: on the contrary, she meant to be very devout. But she not only believed in the injunction "Let your light shine before men," but felt that it behooved her to attract Father Dominic's attention to the fact that it was shining. Clearer and higher rose her voice; deeper and louder sounded Larry's; more shrilly piped Claire.