"I know the _ceremonies_ are rather harrowing to the lookers-on. (I heard someone sob--dear Sarella, I'm afraid.) But not to _us_. One is not sad because one has been allowed to do the one thing one wanted to do? Is one?" "Not when it is a great, good thing like this." "Ah, how kind you are! I always told you you were the kindest person I had ever met. Yes the _thing_ is great and good--only you must help me to do it in God's own way, in the way He wishes it done. You will not get tired of helping, by your prayers for me, will you?" "Of course I never shall." Presently she said, not laughing now either, but with a ripple like the laughter of running water in her voice, "You can't think how I like it all, how amusing some of it is! One has to do 'manual labor'--washing pots and pans, and cleaning floors; I believe it is supposed to be a little humiliating, and meant to keep us humble. And you know how used I am to it. I'm afraid of its making me conceited--I do it so much better than the Sisters who never did anything like that at home. Mother Prioress is always afraid, too, that I shan't eat enough, and that I shall say too many prayers. I fell into a pond we have in our garden, and she was terrified, thinking I must be drowned; no one could drown in it without standing on her head. I was trying to get a water-lily, so I fell in and came out frightfully muddy and smelly, too.... You must be kind to Sarella; she is so good, and has been so good to me. I shall never forget what you and she did for me. Write to her if you go away, and tell her all about yourself." "What there is to tell." "Oh, there will be lots. You are not such a bad letter-writer as that...." So they talked, the small, trivial, kindly talk that belongs to friendship, and showed him that Mariquita was more Mariquita than ever, now she was Sister Consuelo. Her father liked the Spanish name, without greatly realizing its reference to Our Lady of Good Counsel. THE END