She liked to go there, too, in the afternoon
when she came in from play, when twilight crept on and deepened, and
the flame of the little altar lamp that her father had given her shone
like a tiny star amid the dusk of the quiet room. Larry liked it
better when, just after supper, the candles of the candelabra were all
lighted, and the family gathered around the shrine and said the Rosary
together.
To Abby belonged the welcome charge of keeping the oratory in order;
while Larry always managed to have a few flowers for his vase, even if
they were only dandelions or buttercups. He and his sister differed
about the placing of this offering.
"What a queer boy you are!" said Abby to him one day. "Your vase has a
pretty wild rose painted on it, yet you always set it with the plain
side out. Nobody'd know it was anything but a plain white vase. You
ought to put it round this way," she added, turning it so that the rose
would show.
"No, I won't!" protested Larry, twisting it back again. "The prettiest
side ought to be toward the Blessed Virgin."
"Oh--well--to be sure, in one way!" began Abby.
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