Unforseen Events.

After all the exercises had been performed, Mrs. Allen and the children bade farewell to the Sisters, and Reverend Mother gave them a pressing invitation to visit the Convent often.

When our friends reached Midville Station, Papa Allen was waiting for them with the carriage, which soon brought them to "Home, Sweet Home," as Bo sung out, when he saw Aunt Lucy, Uncle Dick and Hetty standing at the gate.

Bo hugged every one, including Don, when that, too demonstrative beast gave him a chance to notice any one but his own dogship.

Uncle Dick declared he never again would complain of noise for "the house has been like a desert without our harum-scarum."

Amy and her brother kept together as much as possible during the remainder of the summer. The pony chaise was in demand every afternoon, and the children always invited a few of their friends to enjoy a drive with them.

One day Mrs. Allen filled a basket with roses, which she gave to Amy, saying: "I wonder if you and Bolax wouldn't like to take these up to Grandma Barton." Allie Thornton, who was present, asked: "Is she your real Grandma?" "Oh, no," answered Amy; "she is a poor old lady, nearly blind, to whom Mamma sends things; we love to go to see her." "Let me carry the basket to the chaise; it feels quite heavy," remarked Estelle.

"Very likely Mamma has placed a pot of jelly under the flowers," said Amy. "My mother says that when we bestow a gift we make it doubly acceptable by giving it in a graceful manner. This old lady has no relatives to look after her, she has a son, but she does not know where he is. Mamma says it is pitiful to hear the poor soul talk of that son, how she prays for him and hopes he will come back to her before she becomes entirely helpless." "I just hope God will punish that son!" exclaimed Bo. "Father Anthony says anyone who is cruel to his parents will have no luck in this world and be everlastingly punished in the next." "Dear brother, don't hope evil for any one, rather let us pray that the heartless son may be inspired to think of his dear old mother and return to her." Just here a bend of the road brought them upon a little cottage of the romantic order, overgrown with woodbine, in which Grandma had a room. The dear old lady greeted the children heartily, thanking them for the flowers. "Take seats, my dears; oh, not there child, that is Velvet Ear's chair," and Bolax sprang aside just in time to save himself from sitting upon a tiny skye-terrier.

"Are you well this morning?" asked Amy. "Oh, very well, dear," answered Grandma.

After a few more pleasant remarks the children bid good-bye, then getting into the cart drove leisurely along the road.

Suddenly there was a thunder-clap, and a dark cloud appeared where the sun had shone a moment before.

"Drive as fast as you can, Brother; I fear we will be drenched!" while she was speaking, the rain poured down. Bo knowing how easily his sister took cold, divested himself of his jacket and put it around her. "Ben Bolt" seemed to take in the situation and got up a speed he had never before shown. When they reached home all were soaked. Estelle laughed about her plight, but Bo hurried his sister into the house, where his mother and aunt soon had her in a warm bath, then to bed with a cup of hot lemonade, hoping thus to ward off the consequences of such a severe drenching.

In a few days Amy began to cough. Dr. Carroll looked serious when asked if the cough would last long.

In ten days the child grew rapidly worse, and Mrs. Allen sent for her husband, who was on one of his Western trips. He came home to find his little daughter so ill, that her life was almost despaired of. Bravely the doctors fought against the dread disease which they feared would end fatally, although they managed to ward off the danger for a time.

The Sisters came up from the Convent to see the dear child and try to console her father and mother.

We will have all our children and sisters pray if it be God's will to spare your beloved one.

Amy's Death.

It is a sweet October morning, a tender mist, gray in the distance, rose-colored and golden where the rays of light strike it more directly, envelopes the landscape; the trees are decked in holiday attire—green, russet, orange and scarlet.

On a couch placed near the window reclines the meek patient sufferer. Aunt Lucy stands near, Hetty kneels beside her "baby" with a cup of beef tea trying to coax her to swallow a few spoonfuls.

"Hetty, dear, don't force me, I am not hungry." "My blessed angel do take just a few drops for your old Hetty."

Amy heeded not, her thoughts were far away. "Auntie," she remarked, "isn't that woods like a piece of Heaven? See how the trees glisten as the sun shines on their waving branches. How glorious Heaven must be when earth is so filled with beauty."

Aunt Lucy looked into the ethereal face, and unbidden tears coursed down her cheeks.

Hetty stooped over the wan little hand, and kissing it, hastened from the room, her heart bursting with grief. In the kitchen she met old Pat, his head bowed and his whole bearing showing the depth of his grief for what all now saw was inevitable.

"Hetty," said he in a hoarse whisper, "is she going?" "Oh, Pat, I feel dis is de last day we will have our angel child. Dey done telephoned for Dr. Carroll, he will be here directly."

At two o'clock the doctor told the assembled household, that but a few hours of life remained for the dear one.

At three o'clock death with "solemn steps and slow," is steadily approaching. Now her voice, which before has been scarcely above a whisper, becomes strong again, as is frequently the case in the dying, and she tries to sing in the old sweet way: "Jesus, Jesus, Dearest Lord."

It seems as though the angels were present, Heaven so fills the room.

After a moment's rest she turned her eyes on the weeping company, and said: "Don't weep for me, rather rejoice that I will soon be with Our Dear Lord and His Blessed Mother. Mamma, dear, say that beautiful prayer that ends with—'Merciful Jesus have mercy on me.'"

"Mamma, dear, you will come to me in Heaven. There will be no parting, we will walk together through the golden streets, and through the beautiful gardens forever. Come, kiss me now, darling mother!"

Then she addressed Mr. Allen, who stood with great tear-drops rolling down his face, his heart broken with sorrow.

"Dear Papa, how I love you! You have been such a loving father to me and Brother, so good to dear Mamma—Forgive my having tried your patience so often."

"Heart's dearest," answered her father, "you have never caused me a moment of trouble in all your life."

"Darling Papa you will come to me when Our Lord calls you. I know you love Him. Father Leonard will show you the true way to reach Heaven; O promise me you will follow it."

"My angel child," responded the father, "I solemnly promise." His sobs choked his utterance, but kneeling and taking his child's hand he kissed it fervently.

Exhausted by her efforts, she lay silent awhile, then turning to Bolax, she said: "Dear little Brother, never forget the promises you made to Our Lord the day of your First Holy Communion. Oh, serve Him faithfully that you may meet me in Paradise.

"Dearest Aunt Lucy, I thank you for all your years of kindness and love; oh, I know you will be there to rejoice with me.

"And Hetty dear! let me kiss the hand that nursed and tended me so faithfully."

Hetty's grief was becoming uncontrollable, so she hastened from the room lest she should unnerve the rest of the family.

Poor old Pat was not forgotten, when called to bid farewell, he managed to control himself while he knelt asking the dear child's blessing.

Here Reverend Father Leonard entered the room. Mrs. Allen lit the candles on the little altar at the foot of the bed; all withdrew for a few moments leaving Amy alone with the Priest.

When the Father was ready to administer the Holy Viaticum, every one returned to the room, each bearing a lighted candle, knelt in prayer. After receiving Our Dear Lord, the child's face became radiant; a heavenly smile lit up her countenance, she murmured: "Jesus, precious Jesus; how I love Thee! and yet—how unworthy I am!" Here she held out her hands as if beckoning to some one. "O my beloved! take me to Thyself! Jes—" The lips ceased their utterance with the sweet name half spoken. One long-drawn sigh and another angel was added to the innumerable company of the Blessed. The days that followed Amy's death were to the household painful in the extreme.

Mr. Allen was overwhelmed with grief. It was useless to try to speak to him; for two days he shut himself in his room and the Doctor could scarcely persuade him to take nourishment.

Mrs. Allen was resigned to God's will, although her heart was crushed with sorrow.

Kind neighbors came offering condolence, indeed the family had the sympathy of the whole village.

Reverend Mother Gertrude sent a letter by two of her Sisters reminding Mrs. Allen of Amy's desire to be buried under the Bed of Lilies.

"We are sure now," said the Sisters, "the dear child had a presentment of her approaching departure from this world, so Reverend Mother begs you will have the funeral from our Chapel and let the dear one rest under the Lilies of the Valley."

Reverend Father Leonard was consulted as to the advisability of accepting Mother Gertrude's gracious offer; Mrs. Allen feared her pastor might wish the funeral to take place in the parish church. "On the contrary," said the good priest, "I think no resting place could be more fitting for such a child than a grave where the rays of the Sanctuary Lamp shine out upon it through the Church windows. I shall go to St. Imelda's and ask to be allowed to celebrate the Mass, which must be what we call the 'Mass of the Angels.'"

The funeral was announced for Thursday morning, carriages were to leave the house at half-past eight, so as to reach the Convent in time for the services at half-past nine. The Chapel was draped in white, all the flowers and ornaments on the altar and the vestments were white.

Professor Renaldi's pupils, who were in the same class as Amy, presented a beautiful harp of white rosebuds, with the word "Love" formed of Forget-Me-Nots woven across the strings.

The Chapel could scarcely contain the number of people who came to pay a last tribute of love to the dear child.

The gates of the Sanctuary were left open and the casket placed in front of the altar as near the rail as possible.

During the Mass the music was almost joyous. Reverend Mother ordered this expressly so that the bereaved parents might be soothed in their grief.

Six little girls dressed in white walked beside the casket as it was borne to the grave, and now our dear, our beloved one sleeps under the Lilies, emblematic of her own pure soul.

Funeral Sermon.

Dear Friends, I need not tell you who is she over whom we weep today. You well remember little Amy, who only a few months ago knelt at this altar to receive Our Lord for the first time.

Like St. Imelda her heart and soul were absorbed in love for Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. On the night of the day Amy made her First Communion, her mother heard her crying and sobbing in her bed. When asked what could cause such grief, she answered: "O, Mother, this was the happiest day of my life, and I grieve because it is ended."

This child was especially loved by God. Graceful in form, lovely in feature, and in innocence of heart an angel, she seemed like some bright heavenly spirit lent for a time to the world to light up God's love in it.

There was about Amy a spiritual refinement—a looking forward to the things that are to come, a sweetly sad yearning towards Jesus, the object of her young heart's pure love.

Our Lord was jealous of the possession of so pure a soul, and before its loveliness might be tarnished by any fault incident to human frailty, he called her from earth to place her near His Sacred Heart for eternity.

Amy's whole life seemed to tend to one point, namely to love God above all things and in all things; she knew that without God's love man is not fulfilling his destiny, he is astray on a pathless waste—a ship on a storm-tossed sea, without helm and without hope.

Will you ask me how the dear one died? Think how she lived. A happy holy death closed a happy innocent life.

It was my sad duty to attend her during her last illness. I have seen many persons die, but among them all, Amy shone out pre-eminently for her resignation to God's will.

She was often heard praying in subdued tones, when intense pain assailed her: "O Holy Mother of Jesus, help me to bear my sufferings with patience, in union with those your Divine Son endured for me when dying on the cross."

Raising his hands and eyes to Heaven, the Priest prayed:

"Dear Angel child! we look up to you on this bright day, crowned in Heaven with a fadeless crown, pray for those you have left behind to mourn. If earth has lost an angel, Heaven has gained one. If we have been deprived of a dear affectionate daughter and sister, we have gained a blessed intercessor before God's Holy Throne in the glory of Paradise."

After the funeral Mr. Allen started for a business trip to St. Louis. The Doctor said it was best he should go rather than remain where everything reminded him of the beloved one and gave him a heart-pang.

Winter passed quietly, when Christmas came it was celebrated as a peaceful holy day; every one tried to be cheerful, but there was a minor in the carol—a spray of Cypress twining 'mid the holly wreaths.

On the first day of March a quiet wedding took place in the family, when dear Aunt Lucy became the wife of our beloved Doctor Carroll, to the great delight of Bolax and all the family, especially Hetty, "who always knowed dat weddin' done had to be."

Mrs. Allen begged that the "Honey-moon" trip should not be prolonged, as she could not spare her sister, so in three weeks' time the bride and groom returned to reside permanently in the old homestead.

One day in April, Bolax surprised every one by returning from school early in the morning, having been ordered home on account of scarlet fever, which had suddenly broken out at St. Thomas'.

Later in the day the President telephoned to Mrs. Allen telling her that there were fifteen cases in the house, the disease having been brought in by a day pupil. "It will necessitate our closing the classes for the season, and will entail a serious loss to the College."

So Bolax had to study as best he could at home with the assistance of Mamma and Uncle Carroll.