Bless this Mouse by Lois Lowry Page A

terminology. "Chrism."
    He looked at her for a long time.
    Finally he spoke again. "There are more of you, aren't there?"
    She couldn't lie to him. "Two hundred and nineteen, " she whispered. "Not counting me."
    Father Murphy's eyes widened. Then he shook his head, chuckling. He touched her forehead, just below the gumdrop, with his thumb, very gently.
    "Bless this mouse," he said in a loud voice to the congregation. "And all mice," he added, more quietly.
    Then he placed her carefully on his shoulder. She grasped the embroidered fabric of his chasuble and pulled herself upright so that she could look out at the crowd. She felt very grand.

    The muted rumble continued, and Hildegarde realized, suddenly, what it was. It was the happy purr of many cats, in unison.
    "Hymn number two eighty-seven," Father Murphy announced. The organ struck a chord, and his parishioners stood and began to sing.
    "
For all the saints, who from their labors rest...
"
    Hildegarde didn't know the words, but she was able to join in on the chorus when the music swelled. She could tell that Trevor was using the expression pedal, just above her sleeping nest.
    "
Alleluia,
" she sang. "
Alleluia!
"
    AMEN