Two days after, however, I again accompanied Father Friday to the
forest, when, with blessing, the little wanderer was laid to rest among
the pines. One thing he had vainly tried to discover. Though during
that night her mind had been otherwise clear and collected, memory had
utterly failed upon one point: she could not remember her name. As we
knew none to put upon the rude cross which we placed to mark her grave,
Father Friday traced on the rough wood, with paint made by Josh from
burnt vine twigs, the simple inscription: "A Child of Mary."
HANGING MAY-BASKETS.
I.
"I am so glad May-day is coming!" exclaimed Ellen Moore. "What sport
we shall have hanging May-baskets!"
"What do you mean?" inquired Frances, who lived in Pennsylvania, but
had come to New England to visit her cousins.
"Never heard of May-baskets?" continued Ellen, in astonishment. "Do
you not celebrate the 1st of May in Ridgeville?"
"Of course. Sometimes we go picking wild flowers; and at St. Agnes'
Academy, where I go to school, they always have a lovely procession in
honor of the Blessed Virgin.
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