And the poor child smiled at her own childishness and simplicity. "But that's not all, Father. I have told no one but mother and you; but I'm all one running sore down to my feet, and the doctor said something about an operation the other day. Sure, you won't allow that, Daddy Dan, will you?" She was rolling one of the buttons in my sleeve round and round in her thin fingers, and looking wistfully at me. "No, my child, no operation! You have gone through too much for that. But now cheer up, Alice, it will all come right. Some of these days you will see how our dear Lord and His Holy Mother love you. Why, don't you know, you little goose, that these are signs of your predestination? Don't you remember all that you have learned about the saints, and how they prayed to be afflicted?" "I do, Daddy Dan." "And don't you remember all about those holy women that were marked with the wounds of our Divine Lord?" "I do, Daddy Dan." "Very well! Now you're one of them. The Lord has made you His own. Now, good by. I'll come to see you every day in future. But pray! pray! pray! won't you?" "I will, Daddy Dan! Will you come to-morrow?" * * * * * This was all very well; but I was as cross as a bear with a sore head, notwithstanding. "Wisha, then, Mrs. Moylan," I said, as I was leaving the house, "aren't you the mighty proud woman entirely, never to call in your parish priest, nor send him word about your poor child! What are we coming to, I wonder, when poor people are getting so much above themselves?" "Well, then, I didn't like to be troubling your reverence. And sure, I thought you knew all about it, and that Father Letheby told you." "He didn't, then. You and he have kept it a great secret,--a great secret entirely. Never mind. But tell me, is the poor child really resigned?" "Well, indeed she is, your reverence, excep' now and then, when the whole thing comes back to her. In fact, she's less trouble than when she was well. Then nothing could please her. She was always grumblin' about her clothes, an' her food; and she was short and peevish. Now she is pleased with everythin'. 'T is 'whatever you like, mother;' or ''t is too good for me, mother;' or 'thank you kindly, mother,' until sometimes I do be wishing that she had some of the old sperrit, and take me short in her answers. But, sure, 't is all God's Blessed and Holy Will. Glory be to His Holy Name!" I went back through the village again and called upon Father Letheby. He was just sitting down to dinner.