V.
HOLY MARY.
Have you ever watched the clouds on a wild day hiding
the sun? They move along, a dark, heavy mass, as
if determined to keep his light from the waiting world.
At times, through the rifts, you catch a glimpse of him;
or there is a golden border which shows he is somewhere
near. You think he must be coming soon. But no, it
is all too dark for him yet. Suddenly, in the midst of
the gloom appears a little white cloud. It grows bright,
brighter and brighter as he fills it with his glory. Yes,
surely he is there; only his splendour could make it
shine like that. A few moments at most and he must
show himself; a few moments and he will scatter the
darkness and flood the earth with light.
Hidden among the mountains of Galilee, amid a profusion of wild flowers, lies the village of Nazareth, the houses, small, low, with flat roofs, looking like little white boxes set on the slope of the hill. That one, half cottage, half rock, the lowest in the steep street, is the home of Joseph, the carpenter of the place. All things are in quiet silence. Night is in the midst of her course. No light anywhere, except the stars overhead, and they shine out brightly in the clear, frosty air, for it is the month of March. Yes! a lamp is burning in that last house. Who can be the watcher there when all the village is asleep? Let us go in noiselessly and see.
Alone in her little room kneels a girl of fourteen. What a wonderful face! so grave and yet so sweet, so
