Gloria

Miss Flax, the little thin sister, and Miss Gloria, the stout able-bodied sister, lifted up their hands and eyes in horror at the mere hint of a wet nurse.

“What did the priest, and all of you, keep on saying when we first went in?” / “Our Fathers, Hail Maries, and Glorias; couldn’t you hear?” asked Emily, laughing. / “No, I should think not, you rattled on so fast- What are Hail Maries and Glorias?” / “The Gloria you know well enough, my dear, because you say it in your church at the end of every psalm,” replied Miss Horton; “the Hail Mary is a prayer to our Blessed Lady,” and she repeated it.