The morning was a very short one for Mary. After breakfast, her father went to the telephone to call Sister Madeline, Mrs. Selwyn's sister. Mary breathlessly told her aunt of the great surprise and promised to go out to Maryvale on the early afternoon train. Then she went to look after her pets. Snowball must have a saucer of milk. Dick needed seed, fresh water, and a bit of apple. There was a trip to the garden for some crisp lettuce leaves for her pretty white rabbits, Snowdrop and Snowflake, which she had found, Easter morning, guarding a big nestful of gaily-colored eggs under the lilac bush. She had learned, too, that they were very fond of clover, and it took some time to gather enough for two hungry bunnies. But Mary had found the spots in the big, old-fashioned yard, where the clover grew thickest; and when she returned to Snowflake and Snowdrop, she had a handful for each. After watching them nibble at it for some minutes, she ran down to the barn where Tom, Aunt Mandy's grandson, was busy with the horses.

"Good mawnin', Miss May-ree! Good mawnin'!" he cried, smiling all over his jolly black face. "It 'pears to me yo' is a li'l late dis mawnin'."

"Oh, don't you know why, Tom? Haven't you heard about my new little sisters? You can't begin to think how happy I am."

"Dat's what we all is, Miss May-ree; we sho'ly is dat! I reckon yo' won't be comin' down to de barn ebery mawnin' aftah dis wif sugah lumps fo' ma pets, he! he! he!"

"Indeed I shall, Tom. I didn't forget them this morning, in spite of the s'prise, so why should I on other mornings," and Mary drew a handful of loaf sugar from her pocket.

"Dem hosses would be powahful hurt ef'n yo' did, Miss May-ree. See ole Fanny watchin' yo'? She knows persackly what yo' has fo' her, she sho'ly does. Dey's in de bestest humor dis mawnin' same's de res' ob us, I reckon."

Tom stood near to see that no harm should come to the little girl while she placed lump after lump of sugar on the palm of her hand and let the horses take them.

"Yo' pa jes' done told me dat Liza am gwine to fotch yo' out to see yo' Aunt May-ree dis aftahnoon, and fo' me to be ready to dribe yo' all to de ferry torreckly aftah lunch. Which one ob dem hosses does yo' want me to dribe, Miss May-ree?"

"Whose turn is it, Tom?"

"I doan' 'membah which one, Miss May-ree. Dey wuz bofe out yeste'day and de day befoah—"

"I think we ought to take both of them to-day, Tom. This is such an important day, you know, and I would not like to hurt the feelings of either of them. Do you think horses have feelings, Tom? I do."

"Wal, now, Miss May-ree, I doan' know persackly what to think 'bout dat. I reckon dey has, same's eberybody else. Ef'n yo' gib Fanny sugah lumps, an' doan' gib Billy none, I 'lows his feelin's ud be hurt a right smaht, I sahtinly does! But yo' pa done told me to tek de runabout and one hoss; so you see, one ob dem hab jes' natchelly got to stay home."

"W—ell, if you can't remember, Tom,—oh, I know how we can fix it! Drive Fanny when you take us to the ferry, and Billy when you come after us this evening."

"Dat's de ticket, Miss May-ree! Dah's Liza on de back porch. Wondah what she wants now."

"I know! I know!" and Mary flew up the walk.

"Aunt Mandy done told me to fotch yo' in, honey, kase yo' ma's awake now an'——"

But Mary waited to hear no more. Through the hall and up the stairs to her mother's room, she flew on tiptoe. Such a happy quarter of an hour as followed while she told her mother just a few of the plans she had made to show the dear babies how glad she was to have them.

"Are you going to dedicate them to Blessed Mother, too?" she asked; for she herself had, as a tiny baby, been placed under the special protection of the Mother of God, with the promise that she should wear our Lady's colors, blue and white, until her seventh birthday. She had been born in May, the month of our Lady, and had been named "for Blessed Mother first and Aunt Mary second," as she told those who asked about it. Though Mrs. Selwyn knew that her little girl never tired of hearing stories of the Blessed Virgin, she was somewhat surprised when, on Mary's last birthday, the child had asked, "Will you take me to church, please, Mother? It is about the promise, you know. Will you make it again for me? I can't bear to stop wearing Blessed Mother's colors just because I am seven years old. My new white dress with the pink ribbons on it is lovely; but I like blue better."

"I thought you must be tired of blue, dear," her mother had replied, "so I put pink ribbon on the new dress for a little change. But it makes me very happy to know that you love our Blessed Mother so much, and we shall go at once to renew the promise for another seven years."

"I think we had better make it for always and always, Mother, for I know I shall never wish to wear any other colors."

And now, in answer to her question about Berta and Beth, her Mother said, "We shall dedicate Beth to our Blessed Mother, and Berta to the Sacred Heart."

"O Mother, that will be lovely! Then Beth will wear blue and white as I do; and Berta, red and white. But I s'pose they will have everything all white while they are such teeny, weeny babies. We won't have to tie red and blue ribbons on them to know them apart, will we, because they don't look one bit alike. Do you know which is which, Aunt Mandy?"

"Does I know which am which, honey! Kotch ole mammy mekin' a 'stake 'bout dese yeah li'l bressed lambs! Does yo' want to see de li'l toes dey has, honey?"