By the table her mother sat sewing, her head bent
over her work and fingers flying as she plied the needle in and out. As
the girl watched, the mother looked up at the clock on the shelf above
the stove, shook her head sadly, and hastily brushing away the tears
which spring to her eyes, resumed her sewing.
"Poor mother!" again sighed the girl. "Worrying about Tim, as usual, I
suppose." Then opening the kitchen door, she stepped into the welcome
warmth and light of home.
"Well, little mother," she cried cheerily; "here I am at last, and I
suppose you thought I was never coming. You see, dear, we had to work
very late to-night to finish a large order. Then there was confession
and I was delayed there quite a while. I was almost the last to be heard
and it was considerably after ten by the time I left the church.
Everyone in town seemed to be going to confession to-night."
"Not everyone," said her mother sadly. "There is _one_ who has not been
in spite of his promise to us and to the Father."
The girl glanced quickly at the table on which plates for two were
laid, then at the supper keeping hot upon the stove, and exclaimed
rather bitterly:
"So Tim is away again, as usual, is he? And he promised faithfully to
come home early to-night and go to confession for Christmas. But then,
he promised the same last Easter and every First Friday since, and has
broken his word every time.
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