Weary no doubt she often was, for her hand and brain were rarely idle now; but it was the healthy weariness that brings the sleep of the just, and wipes out toil with rest. Neither did Missy understand--how could she?--the bliss of those hours spent in the little gallery that overlooked the empty and silent church. She could have understood the thrill that it might have given her, to see the crowd that sometimes filled the church, hanging upon the words of the preacher, if that preacher had been her son. But, alas for Missy! St. John did only humble out-of-sight work. He rarely preached, and then only to supply some one's place, who had been called away or hindered by illness. There were two or three priests, older than he, who did the work that appeared to the world, and who were above him in everything, and who were praised, and who had influence. What was St. John, who had given all his money, and all his time, and all his heart, to this work? The lowest one of all, of less authority or influence or consideration than any. Well, if he was satisfied, no one need complain, and he evidently was. CHAPTER XXVIII. VESPERS. Late one afternoon, during this visit of hers, Missy stole into the little gallery by herself, and closed the door. The plaintive and persistent bell had shaken out its summons in the house. Her mother slept through it, overcome by the heat and by some unusual exertion in the morning. Missy did not consider herself bound to assist at all the offices, but she rather liked it, and crept in very often when no one was noticing, and when she happened to feel well enough. A few poor people came in this afternoon, and two or three Sisters. St. John said the prayers. When the prayers were over, and he had gone into the sacristy, Missy still lingered, leaning her head on the rail, and gazing down into the church. St. John came out, after a moment, and the poor people came up, two or three of them, and preferred petitions for pecuniary or spiritual aid, principally pecuniary. After their audiences were ended, they shambled away; the Sisters had disappeared, and the church was empty but for one figure, standing near the door. St. John gave an inquiring look, and made a step forward. The lady, for it was a lady, seemed to hesitate, and her attitude and movements betrayed great agitation. Some late rays of the afternoon sun came piercing down through a high-up, colored window. Missy looked down with keen interest upon the two; it was another scene in her brother's life. "You are too young for the care of penitents like that, my dear St. John," she said to herself, sententiously. For the lady was pretty, more than pretty, and young and graceful.