PAPA! Papa! the lamp is lit!" called Therese one evening, and a voice answered from the
belvedere:

"Coming, little Queen!"

There was the sound of a chair moving, and a door opening, and Monsieur Martin's step
was heard on the stairs. It was getting near Christmas-time, and a bright fire was crackling merrily on the hearth. As soon as her father had taken his usual place beside it,
Therese clambered on to his knee. Marie sat at the round table with a book, Pauline took her embroidery and Leonie her tapestry-frame, whilst Celine settled herself on a low chair to look at the pictures in a big album. Then Marie began to read aloud Dom Gueranger's "Liturgical Year," a book which explains, season by season, all the beautiful mysteries of our Faith. This more serious reading was followed by some passages from another book of a lighter description, and then began an animated conversation. The talk naturally turned on Midnight Mass, and Therese asked:

"Papa, have you remembered the Yule log?" When her father answered, "Yes," she continued eagerly:

"Is it very big?" Monsieur Martin got up and went out. A moment later he came in almost staggering under the weight of the huge log.

"Now are you satisfied, little Queen?" he said, laying it at her feet.

"Oh yes, Papa!" cried Therese, clapping her hands delightedly.

"Our fire, at any rate, won't go out on Christmas night, and the Holy Child will find it burning beautifully when He comes! I'll put my shoes in the fireplace on this side, and Celine's on that! Oh, when will it be here? It's so long coming!"
 
The others laughed at their little sister's childish glee, and her father looked at her lovingly. Because Therese was absolutely unspoilt, the smallest things gave her pleasure. How she enjoyed those winter evenings! With what delight she watched the red apples roasting in the fire, and the chestnuts cooking in embers! As they ate them, they sang old Breton lads and Christmas carols, calling on the Christ Child come, or thanking Him for His gracious coming. They were never at a loss for some fresh form of amusement, and these simple pleasures were among the sweetest joys of home life.

After a merry evening, they said night prayers together, and Therese, kneeling beside her father, had only to look at him to learn how the Saints pray. Then good-nights were said, and the "little Queen" received a last kiss from her "darling King." While Pauline was
putting her to bed, she invariably asked:

"Have I been good today? Is Our Lord pleased with me? Is Our Lady pleased with me? Will then angels stay with me?" The answer was always "Yes," otherwise she would have cried all night.

The time came for Therese to prepare for her first Confession. Pauline had taught her that the priest takes the place of God, and that we must hide nothing from him. So she confessed her little faults with perfect truthfulness. It would have been the same if she had committed bigger ones. As she was too small for the priest to see her if she knelt in the confessional, she stood at his knee. She came out full of joy at the thought that her soul had been made whiter than snow. The priest had told her to love Our Lady very much, and she determined to try to do so.

As soon as she left the church, she stopped under a street-lamp, took out her rosary, which had been blessed, and, turning it over and over, examined it attentively.

"What are you doing, darling?" asked Pauline.

"I am looking to see what a blessed rosary is like." From this time Therese always went to Confession before all the great Feasts of the Church, to make her soul whiter and whiter.
 
She loved every Feast as it came round, but the one she loved best, and for which she prepared herself most gently, was Corpus Christi. She could not yet receive Lord, for then children did not make their First Communion when they were very small, as the Holy Father allows them to do now. She would look longingly at the white Host which the priest carried in the procession, and which he put on beautiful altars covered with flowers and lights. Therese, dressed in white, and wearing a wreath of roses, eagerly awaited her turn to throw her flowers. She would come quite close up to Our Lord, and she was never happier than when she thought she saw her fragrant petals kiss the golden monstrance.

The great Feasts did not come often, but every week brought a day which Therese loved dearly—Sunday, God's own Feast. She thought Sunday a delightful day, though in certain respects it was a solemn one.

In the morning they all went to High Mass, and at the sermon, their seats being far from the pulpit, they moved into the nave. Sometimes it was difficult to find a place, because of the crowd. But everyone gladly made room for little Therese and her father. Monsieur
Guerin, her uncle, who sat in the church warden's bench, was delighted to see the picture they made coming up the aisle. He called Therese his "little Sunbeam." It never occurred to the child herself that people were looking at them; her whole attention was riveted on the preacher. The first sermon she really understood was one on the Passion; it made a deep impression on her, though she was only five and a half.

The meals at "Les Buissonnets" on Sundays were usually very plain, so that the maids might be free to go to church. However, Pauline always gave Therese a treat by bringing her a cup of chocolate in bed.

If there was a fair in the town, Therese would go out with her father and sisters, but however gay the music of the merry-go-rounds, and however attractive the brightly colored balloons, and the twirling "windmills," Monsieur Martin made it a rule never to buy anything on Sunday. In fact, to avoid making others work, he never travelled on that day unless absolutely obliged to do so. Sunday passed all too quickly, and Therese enjoyed every moment of it till the evening. But after Compline, a sad feeling came over her. She thought of tomorrow, when everyday life would begin again, with lessons and work, and she wished that it could always be Sunday, as she imagined it must be in Heaven. What added to this sadness was that they could not all be together, because the elder girls had to take it in turns to spend evening with their cousins. Therese, too, was invited sometimes, and on the way home she loved to look up at the twinkling stars. There was one bright cluster which she looked for particularly, because she saw in it a resemblance to the letter T.

"Look, Papa," she would say to her father, "my name is written in Heaven!"

Then she would tell him to lead her, and without looking where she was going she would throw back her head and gaze unweariedly at the starry skies.

A printable file of this chapter as well as a coloring picture can be found below:

THE holidays were not all spent fishing. The children had to see something of their relations, and Madame Guerin, their kind aunt, who felt herself responsible for her nieces as well as for her own little girls, did her best to make them happy. She used often to take them to a beautiful park, called the Jardin de l'Etoile, a favorite playground for children.

Therese loved running about in the thickets picking flowers, and she always returned with a big bunch. She and her favorite cousin, Marie, had in vented an original game called "Hermits." They had heard from their parents stories of the Saints who went to live in the desert, and they were fired with the desire of imitating them. So they made themselves a cell in a quiet corner of the garden, and while one hermit knelt and prayed the other worked, pretending to plant and water the vegetables, of which their diet was supposed to consist. When he was tired of working, and his brother of praying, they changed places.

But one of the little anchorites was always inclined to prolong the time of prayer. This was Therese. She did not only pretend, she really did pray, and spent many happy moments talking to Our Lord and listening to His answers.

The two children kept silence like real monks, and when they had anything to say to each other, they expressed themselves by signs. They put on a very solemn expression, and walked about with downcast eyes. The make-believe continued even in the street.
They said the rosary as they went along, using their fingers to count on.

One day, on the way home from school, Therese thought she would imitate the recollection of the hermits. "Lead me," she said to Marie;

"I am going to shut my eyes." Marie immediately wanted to copy her.

"So am I," came the answer.

They were on the pavement,  where there was no danger of their being run over, and for a time all went well. Suddenly a loud crash made Jeanne, who was walking in front with Celine, turn hastily round. To her amazement, she saw that the two children had fallen over and upset some boxes standing at a shop door, and the angry shopkeeper was hurrying out to pick up his goods. Needless to say, the hermits opened their eyes wide enough to scramble to their feet and run away, not only from the shopman, but also from the well-deserved scolding which Jeanne had in store for them.
 
In spite of her taste for the life of a solitary, Therese was overjoyed when one day her father proposed a visit to Trouville, by the sea. From that moment she lived in a dream of eager anticipation, but the reality far exceeded her most glowing expectations. It was the first time she had ever seen the sea, and she sat gazing at it in silent wonder. She enjoyed picking up the pretty colored shells with which the beach was strewn, and at each fresh find she would give little shrieks of delight. The elder girls used to go for long walks, and Therese generally went with them on their expeditions. Their favorite walk was to the "Black Rocks." One day while her sisters were filling their fishing-baskets with shells, Therese sat there apart with Pauline.

It was evening, just when the sun seems to sink into the wide waters, leaving behind it a golden track of light, an image, Pauline said, of the path of faithful souls, lit up by grace. Therese pictured her own soul as a tiny white-sailed boat floating in the midst of that shining way, and she determined that Jesus should always be its pilot, to steer it swiftly and peacefully to the heavenly shore.

A printable file of this chapter as well as a coloring page can be found below.

You know, children, that to become holy, God does not only ask us to make "acts" of mortification. He wants us to do our ordinary actions well. For instance, if you are having recreation or holidays you may enjoy yourselves thoroughly, but without forgetting that you belong to God. More than this, you should make use of these amusements to raise your hearts to Him. If this seems difficult to understand, I will explain what I mean by showing you how Therese spent one of her holidays.

Thursday was always a great day with Therese. It was a holiday for her and for her confidante and playmate, Celine. Celine was now old enough to be at school at the Benedictine Convent, and though she came home every evening, it was almost bedtime when she had finished her homework, and poor Therese saw very little of her. The two children, therefore, longed for Thursday, when they could be together.

One Thursday was to be a whole holiday, and they were told overnight that there was to be a picnic party. It was barely seven o'clock when Pauline came to call her "little girls," but they were already wide awake, and jumped out of bed, bubbling over with joyous anticipation. They made their morning offering, dressed quickly, and then said their prayers. The sun was shining brilliantly, and everything promised a hot day. As soon as breakfast was over, they slung their baskets over their shoulders and set off in the highest spirits. Along the road they picked flowers under the hedgerows, and all at once they found a nest in the bushes. As Therese was too small to see, Pauline lifted her up, and she parted the hedge carefully, holding her breath so as not to frighten the baby birds.

"Would you like to take them home?" asked her father. "They are starlings; you could put them in the aviary with the other birds."

Therese became thoughtful for a moment. She was very fond of pets. She had doves, parakeets, canaries, bullfinches, and linnets in her aviary, and some goldfish in a glass bowl. These little starlings would get on so well with the other birds. But then it would never do to take them from their mother. Therese instinctively protected everything weak and helpless. She was afraid of hurting even an insect, and left the nest untouched.

They continued their walk, and as Therese looked at the woods and meadows, she seemed to hear them telling her of the goodness of God, and of His uncreated loveliness
reflected in the beauty of creation.

"Only think," she exclaimed—"God has made all this out of nothing, just to make us happy! I do love Him!"

At last they found a splendid place both for lunch and fishing in a meadow by the side of a broad stream. The walk had sharpened their appetites, and they were not slow to unpack their hampers. But Therese did not forget to say her grace. After a merry lunch they all wandered off in different directions to amuse themselves as they liked. Therese
spent her time trotting to and fro between her sisters, gathering armfuls of flowers, or sitting beside her father trying to catch minnows with her own little rod.

Finally, she settled herself apart on a grassy bank, and gazed in silence at the landscape before her. Her thoughts turned to her mother in Heaven, and she began to understand that this earth, in spite of its loveliness, is only a place of exile, a path leading to the land where everything is far sweeter and more beautiful, and where the happy days will last for ever. She had felt like this once before when outfishing with her father. In spite of her enjoyment there had been the same sense of disappointment. The jam sandwiches, prepared by Pauline, which had been so fresh and tempting in the morning, were stale and uninviting when lunch time came. This somehow made earth seem sadder, and Therese began to see that only in Heaven will there be perfect joy.

But the picnic seemed likely to end in disaster, for during the afternoon a storm had been gathering, and now suddenly burst. Monsieur Martin caught up his little daughter and carried her away from the trees, which he feared might attract the lightning. As he was crossing the meadow, a thunderbolt fell close to them. But Therese was not at all frightened, for she knew she was in God's hands as surely as she was in her father's arms. The storm soon passed, and tired and happy they returned home through the fields, on which the raindrops were sparkling like diamonds in the sun.

Below you will find a printable copy of this chapter as well as a coloring picture.