Mary's Rainbow

by Mary Edward Feehan

As a surprise to her father and mother, she was allowed to begin to study music and soon showed so much talent for it that Sister Dominic was delighted with her. She never begged to be excused from practice; for was she not "making a s'prise" for those whom she loved better than all the fun and frolics in the world? And every time she was called to the parlor to see her uncle, the same question was on her lips: "How many days is it now, Uncle, before they will be home?" until he at last brought her a large calendar and a blue pencil with which she could mark off each day before she went to bed at night. Toward the end of May, she sighed when she found that there were five whole pages of days to be marked off before the first of November.

But, somehow, the summer passed more quickly than she had believed possible. She was glad to find that September has only thirty days; and when October came, she could scarcely wait for the letter that would tell the exact date when her dear ones would sail for home. Toward the end of the month, the Doctor came with a letter, yes,—but the little girl was sorely disappointed; for baby Beth had been very ill, and the doctor who had attended her would not hear of her being brought back to New York just at the beginning of the long, cold winter. So the return home must be put off until the next May.

Poor little Mary! For her Uncle's sake she tried to be brave and agreed with him when he reminded her of how much better able she would be to play the piano in another six months; but the longing for her father and mother and the babies grew stronger than ever, and she studied the calendar to see whether there were more months of thirty than of thirty-one days between November and May. Looking over the pages which she had turned back when she had first hung the calendar in her room, she danced about at sight of only twenty-eight days in February, and ran to Sister Austin to ask whether the new year would bring any change in the number. But she learned that it would not be a leap year and went away somewhat consoled that there would be no extra day to put off her happiness.

Again the month of May came; but into it and the months which followed were crowded sorrows and trials which seldom fall to the lot of so young a child. The sad, sad news of her father's death in distant India was swiftly followed by word of her mother's illness which again delayed the homecoming. And when, shortly after her tenth birthday, the Doctor, pale and haggard, came to Maryvale and as gently as possible told her of the wreck of the great ocean steamer and the loss of those so dear to them, she felt that she was indeed his little Mary, and that she now belonged to our Blessed Mother in a very special way. For some weeks her aunt and uncle were much worried about her, for she became so thin and pale and played no more with the little ones who were spending the summer vacation at the convent; but after a month with the Doctor in the mountains and another in Georgia at the home of Wilhelmina Marvin, the little daughter of old, old friends of her father, mother, and uncle, she returned to Maryvale looking more like herself.

Many long, lonely hours did she spend. She could not talk much about her sorrows to her uncle and aunt, for she knew that they felt the terrible loss almost as deeply as she did; but she had learned where to find the comfort she so sorely needed; and when she could no longer bear the merry laughter and noisy pranks of her playmates, she would steal away to the chapel and whisper all that she wished to say to the loving Heart in the Tabernacle.

Wilhelmina and she had become fast friends; for the little Southern girl had come as a boarder to Maryvale the year before. Mary had found her the same lively, fun-loving, little romp whom the Doctor had described to her, with just one difference—she had grown more lively, more fun-loving, more full of mischief; and poor Sister Austin's nerves were sorely tried, for Wilhelmina was never happier than when swinging from the highest limbs of the very tallest trees she could find. Sister Madeline had been made Mother Superior at Maryvale; and Wilhelmina was a frequent visitor to her office, where she was called to answer for her pranks. But she was such a truthful, generous, whole-hearted child that no one could be very hard on her. In a short time, she had Mary playing base-ball and many games which she had never heard of; and by degrees, our little girl lost some of her old-fashioned manner, while her gentle ways did much toward keeping Wilhelmina within bounds.

After Mary's visit to Sunnymead, as Wilhelmina's home was called, the two little girls returned to school, Wilhelmina full of good resolutions, most of which she broke the first day. She and Mary were in the same class; for, although eight months younger than Mary, she had not missed nearly a whole year of school on account of illness, and she had been taught at home by a governess—that is, when that young woman could find her and keep her in the schoolroom long enough to teach her anything. She, too, took music lessons; and poor Sister Dominic had her hands full with her. Wilhelmina's favorite tunes were Yankee Doodle, The Wearing of the Green, Oh, Dem Golden Slippers, and several others which she had picked out for herself on the piano at home, and which she faithfully practiced instead of the lesson which her teacher expected her to prepare.

"But, Sister, I can't play scales and exercises for folks. The boys would chase me out of the house if I tried it. You don't know what it means to have eight brothers. They want tunes with lots of swing and go to them."

"The lively things will come later, Wilhelmina, after you have mastered these very important scales and exercises. How can you expect to play runs and trills and such things unless you learn to do it properly?"

"This is the easiest way to play a run, Sister." And the young lady drew her thumb quickly across the length of the keyboard.