Some friends she had came often to see her, but still she beat her wings against the bars, like a wild bird in a cage, and soon her spirits were all gone, and it was sad to see her." "Where was your Saint Lucy?
I thought it was about her," asked Jack, who did not like to have Jill's past troubles dwelt upon, since his were not.
"She is coming.

Saints are not born--they are made after many trials and tribulations," answered his mother, looking at the fire as if it helped her to spin her little story.

"Well, the poor child used to sing sometimes to while away the long hours--sad songs mostly, and one among them which the queen taught her was 'Sweet Patience, Come.' "This she used to sing a great deal after a while, never dreaming that Patience was an angel who could hear and obey.

But it was so; and one night, when the girl had lulled herself to sleep with that song, the angel came.

Nobody saw the lovely spirit with tender eyes, and a voice that was like balm.