One Saturday afternoon, in fact the very next day after the market trip, Oisette's father could have been seen walking through the village street; he was carrying under his arm that tenth melon, or one very like it, which his daughter had selected for the CurÉ.

In his wake came our little Quebec cousin, her red ribbons bobbing along. Carleau, the dog, was at her heels, his short tail, as he walked, moved like the rudder on a boat.

This village street, with its white plaster houses and rows of poplar trees, was very picturesque. There was a yellow sunlight tipped over everything. Just as this little procession crossed the dusty road to enter the rectory gate, a big motor came purring along. In the tonneau were two ladies and a dear little girl; the latter had flying yellow curls.

"Pappa," she called, "see the big melon!" Now pappa was at the wheel, driving his own car. He was watching the road carefully; he had fears lest the little French girl might suddenly dart in front of the car; he had also observed Carleau, but the melon was the one thing in the foreground that he had missed; and, strange to say, a melon was the very thing these people had set out to find.

So, in the twinkling of an eye, the big car was brought to a full stop and Mr. Sage, its owner, was waving a greenback in Monsieur Tremblent's face.

Mr. Sage was naturally a silent man, his motto was "Money talks." Therefore he was somewhat amazed that the owner of the melon did not hand the fruit to him at once; and still more surprised was he to see Oisette Mary give one of her funny little bows and hear her say: "Pardon Monsieur, c'est pour Monsieur le CurÉ," and then she added in English "but there are many more chez moi."

The ladies laughed in chorus and repeated, "Many more at your house, then jump right in and show us the way."

"More as good as that one, eh?" asked Mr. Sage, as he opened the car door.

Monsieur Tremblent was dumb with surprise, he had been inclined to accept the offer and turn back to get another melon for the CurÉ, but Oisette won the day by jumping into the car. "I always have good luck," he told his priest afterward, "when I take the little one."

Those people not only bought three melons, but promised to come again.

When Oisette Mary was eight years of age two very wonderful events occurred, which events stood out in her memory for all time.

One was when she took her first communion in the month of May, which all good Catholics know as the month of Mary; and the second was at the end of that same year, on Christmas Eve, when she was allowed to attend the midnight mass with her parents for the first time.

Little girls who take their first communion are such a pretty sight, for they are all dressed in white; white stockings, white slippers, dress and veil and around their heads each one has a wreath of white flowers.

The church service is always early in the day. Oisette's communion was given at a picturesque little church in the East End of Montreal. This church is known as Notre Dame de Lourdes. (Our Lady of Lourdes.) It is a copy of the larger church at Lourdes, France, and over the high altar is a representation of a little girl kneeling before an image of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Almost a century ago there was a little girl in Lourdes, France, named Bernadette, who being sent one morning very early to a grotto, by her parents, was told to bring home a pitcher of spring water from the clear spring that bubbled there, and the legend was that when Bernadette knelt to catch the water she looked up and saw, high on a rock in the grotto, the figure of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and the Virgin smiled at her and told her that the water had a healing power. Ever since that time many pilgrims have visited Lourdes in France and been healed by its waters.

Certainly the little church in Montreal has a decided charm. Directly a visitor enters he observes over the high altar the figure of little Bernadette kneeling in her blue dress and white cap and above her is the figure of the Virgin. Lights above the Virgin's head are so arranged that a most beautiful glow falls upon her face and figure. Children all love this little church, and it is a pretty sight to see them marching through its portals two and two. The small boys look well in black suits, white collars and white ribbons tied on the left arm. But they get little attention, admiration all being centered on the dainty little maidens about to make their first communion.

When the service is over, these little communicants wear their white garb all day long, and go about visiting all their relatives and friends until nightfall. At each household they visit they expect a gift, sometimes it is a rosary or a prayer book, or a locket, and sometimes it is money put in the shoe for luck.

Oisette's day ended with a drive out to Bord a Plouffe, near the end of the Island of Montreal, where the Sacred Heart Convent is to be found. Here she visited her two older sisters who were at school. She heard the children sing "Stella Maris," she watched a procession about the grounds, little girls making a "Novena," and she had a glass of milk and some cake. Best of all, one of the nuns gave her a lovely little silk banner with the figure of Joan of Arc woven on it. This she took home and hung on her bedroom wall. It became one of her very dearest possessions.

The midnight mass as celebrated at the Notre Dame Cathedral in Montreal is a sight no one can forget. About eleven P. M. on the night before Christmas, the wonderful chime of bells sends out its clamor on the frosty air. "Chim-Chime, Chim-Chime"—they sound from out the high twin towers, and when the Great Bourdon sounds the note in its deep throat the notes carry many miles. It is not sounded every day, but for weddings, funerals and on great church festivals, and its tones are heard above the noise of trolley cars, sleigh bells and other street traffic. On Christmas Eve these chimes are heard by the tired Christmas shoppers, and the still more weary shop girls, and the streams of people on their way home from the theaters. Little Oisette, in a warm velvet coat, a red toque on her head and a red knitted scarf wound around her waist, long red stockings pulled on over her boots, and rubbers put over these stockings, was lifted into the family sleigh and tucked well under the buffalo robes—she could still see the sky, full of wonderful stars, and she could hear, even through her toque, which was well over her ears, the booming of the Great Bourdon.

She liked the way the snow squeaked under the runners of the sleigh, she liked the way the big farm horses kicked the snow, she liked the way the evergreen boughs, loaded with snow, held out their branches toward her.

There is nothing more comfortable than one of these Canadian sleighs full of robes; they are built low on runners close to the ground, and they have a high back which keeps off the wind. The whole effect is somewhat like a wooden bathtub on runners; the seats are wide enough to hold a whole family.

How proud our little Quebec cousin felt to be riding with her father, her mother, her two sisters and two brothers! Her cheeks grew red and redder with the thrill of it. There were hot bricks in the bottom of the sleigh to keep her mother's feet warm, her two sisters held hot potatoes in their muffs. The French Canadian knows how to conserve heat. Long before the day of Thermos bottles and fireless cookers he heated bricks and stones, and sealed up the windows of his home against all wintry blasts. It is a very stuffy atmosphere they breathe, but there is so much latent heat stored in their bodies that they can take a long drive, if well muffled, without the chill of the weather penetrating their bones.

Oisette Mary's eyes grew round and rounder with surprise as they drove into the city and she saw the blaze of electric signs for the first time. The portals of the great church looked very gloomy in comparison until they entered the church, and then she saw for the first time the high altar, with its splendor of colored lights. It is a sight to take the breath away. Tall candles, short candles, clusters of red, green, blue, yellow lights all twinkling like stars; and the organ playing delightful music.

Her father picked Oisette up in his arms, and they went down a long side aisle to visit the manger of the Infant Christ. There it was, very lifelike indeed; piles of straw, heads of cattle, the Infant Christ in wax was lying in some straw, and there were kneeling figures of Joseph and Mary by its side.

After a while Oisette and her father were seated in a pew very close to the chancel and she could see the priests, nineteen in all, who waited on the archbishop; then the little acolytes, six in number, who waited on the priests, were a pretty sight. The organ played "Adeste Fidelis." Then the mass began. The incense poured up in volumes toward the groined roof. At last Oisette fell asleep on "bote of de eye," as the French Canadian would express it, and she never awakened until they were traveling homeward again.

"Do you know where you are, little one?" asked the father, as he cracked his whip. "I am on the front seat with mon pÈre," she replied with a sleepy smile, and curled up again like a little dormouse.

Now one would imagine that when her home was reached, Oisette Mary would, before going to bed, hang up her stocking and prepare for a visit from Santa Claus; or even—it being about two o'clock in the morning—that she might find he had already filled her stocking or decked a Christmas tree for her delight.

Not a bit of it! The French Canadian child does not give nor does she receive gifts on Christmas Day. For these people the day is simply a religious festival; a holy day rather than a holiday.

So Oisette Mary, at two o'clock in the morning of Christmas Day, was given a bowl of hot pea soup, with plenty of onion in it—and put to bed.