"But I want to speak to her," Beth persisted.
"Arrah, be good now, Miss Beth," Kitty coaxed, still on her knees.
"I'll be good if you'll tell me what to say," Beth bargained.
Kitty rose from her knees, went to the side of the crib, and looked down at the child.
"What do ye want to say to her at all?" she asked.
"I don't know," Beth answered. "I just want to speak to her. I just want to say, 'Holy Mother, come close, I love you. Stay by me all night long, and when the daylight comes don't forget me.' How would you say that, Kitty?"
"Bless your purty eyes, darlint!" said Kitty, "just say it that way every time. It couldn't be better said, not by the praste himself. An' if the Blessed Mother ever hears anything from this world," she added in an undertone, "she'll hear that. But turn over now, an' go to sleep, honey. See! I'll stand here till ye do, and sing to you!"
Beth turned over on her left side with her face to the wall, and settled herself to sleep contentedly, while Kitty stood beside her, patting her shoulder gently, and crooning in a low sweet voice—
"Look down, O Mother Mary,
From thy bright throne above;
Send down upon thy children
One holy glance of love!
And if a heart so tender
With pity flows not o'er,
Then turn, O Mother Mary,
And smile on me no more."
As Beth listened her little heart expanded, and presently the Blessed Virgin stood beside her bed, a heavenly vision, like Kitty, with dark hair growing low on her forehead and hanging down her back, blue eyes, and an earnest, guileless face. Beth's little mouth, drooping with dissatisfaction ordinarily, curled up at the corners, and so, thoroughly tranquillised, she fell happily asleep, with a smile on her lips.