"I told you that you might have
an altar, dear. And you may arrange it whenever you please."
"No, but an altary," persisted Abby. "The Tyrrells have an altary in
their house, and I wish we could have one too. Why, you must know what
it is, mother,--just a little room fitted up like a chapel; and the
family say their prayers there night and morning, and at other times if
they wish."
"Oh, an oratory!" observed Mrs. Clayton, trying to repress a smile.
"Perhaps that _is_ the name," admitted Abby, a trifle disconcerted.
"Anyhow, can't we have one?"
"Well--yes," said her mother, after a few moments' reflection. "The
small room next to the parlor might be arranged for that purpose."
"That would make a beautiful al--chapel!" exclaimed Abby. She did not
venture to attempt the long word again.
"I think I could get enough out of the carpet that was formerly on the
parlor to cover the floor," mused Mrs. Clayton aloud. "The square
table, draped with muslin and lace, would make a pretty altar. Then,
with the pictures of the Sacred Heart and the Bouguereau Madonna to
hang on the walls, and my _prie-dieu_--yes, Abby, I think we can manage
it.
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