“To think that I used to be afraid you were not a good Catholic!” she said. “To think that I imagined that I was a better one than you were, I, who never in all my life suffered one little pang for my faith! Why, Cis; why, Cis, dearest! I’m so glad I know you! And I’m so glad that little Matthew will have you for a godmother! I am almost sure that he will be a priest, and may be a saint!” “You little ninny-Nanny!” cried Cis, jumping up, almost forgetting the baby, but saving him from a fall by a clutch on the outer layer of his many envelopes. “You must be getting tired; a little light-headed! I’m going off. If ever you say anything so silly to me as that again I’ll cut your acquaintance, and ungodmother your son! So there!” She kissed Nan good night, gave her little son to her, and ran off to her own room. “They’re nice, good people, and Nan is a darling, always was, but--Beaconhite seems like home, not here, and no one here seems to me like anyone I ever knew well,” thought Cis; she looked sadly at herself in the mirror as she braided her glowing hair. There is no exile so remote, no loneliness so profound as the return to old associations which have been completely outgrown. CHAPTER XXI THE WEAVING Cis stayed on, living on the surface of her little native city. Miss Braithwaite was still in California; she wrote that she could not tell how long she might be detained; it seemed probable that it would be for all of the winter, or its greater part. Her friend was dying slowly in the lingering agonies of the most agonizing of all diseases; she clung to Miss Braithwaite, praying her not to leave her, and Miss Braithwaite had promised to stay to help her to die. Cis suspected it was also to teach her how to die; that she was less versed than Miss Braithwaite in the science of the saints. With Miss Braithwaite gone, Cis had no desire to return to Beaconhite; it was not the place, it was that home and its mistress for which Cis longed, for the lack of which she felt lost. Mr. Singer had found out that Cicely Adair had returned, and he hunted her up, imploring her to take up his work with his telephone girls, help to organize the measures which he was trying to put on foot for their welfare. Cis agreed to undertake this work, but only with the understanding that she was free to lay it down at any time. Her experience under Miss Braithwaite, in Father Morley’s Girls’ Club, in the many good works which occupied her Beaconhite friends, stood Cis in good stead now; she did well with Mr. Singer’s girls, and was interested in them. It was strange and amusing to have gone away, dismissed by the Telephone Company for a breach of law, and return to be placed over their employees’ pretty rooms for recreation and rest, installed as the hostess, friend and guide of these girls.