music myself. I sing it to the guitar, and if life were not so hurried I
should have sent it to you. However--however, we are all going home
to-morrow. I have promised to take charge of Cecilia, and Mrs. Scully is
going to look after May.'

'Oh, how nice! Oh, how jolly that will be!' Olive cried; and, catching
Violet by the hands, she romped with her for glee.

But the nun, taking advantage of this break in the conversation, said:

'Come, now, young ladies, it is after two o'clock; we shall never be
ready in time if you don't make haste--and it won't do to keep the
Bishop waiting.' Like a hen gathering her chickens, the Sister hurried
away with Violet, Olive, and May.

'How happy they seem in this beautiful retreat!' said Mrs. Scully,
drawing her black lace shawl about her grey-silk shoulders. 'How little
they know of the troubles of the world! I am afraid it would be hard to
persuade them to leave their convent if they knew the trials that await
them.'

'We cannot escape our trials,' a priest said, who had just joined the
group; 'they are given to us that we may overcome them.'

'I suppose so, indeed,' said Mrs. Scully; and, trying to find
consolation in the remark, she sighed. Another priest, as if fearing
further religious shop from his fellow-worker, informed Mr. Barton, in a
cheerful tone of voice, that he had heard he was a great painter.

'I don't know--I don't know,' replied Mr. Barton; 'painting is, after