``Now nearly two years she has been with us,'' said Sister Helen
Vincula.

``She was just old enough to be put to the table in a high chair,''
said the lady. ``Ah, how she did laugh and crow and jump when her
father took the peacock-feather-fly-brush from the maid, and waved
it in front of her! She would seize the ends of the feathers, and
laugh and crow louder than ever, and hide her laughing little face
deep into the feathers--Ah me--''

But Bessie Bell said nothing, nor remembered anything. For she did
not know that the lady was talking of something green, and blue, and
soft, and brown.

And it was Sister Justina, and not Sister Helen Vincula, who had
told her to be ashamed when she had cried: Pretty! Pretty! Pretty!
as the something green, and blue, and soft, and brown was waved to
and fro in front of her until she seized it and buried her little
face in it for the joy--of remembering--

So Sister Helen Vincula did not know, and Bessie Bell did not
remember, while the lady talked.

Only long after, when Bessie Bell grew much larger, it happened that
whenever she saw an old-fashioned peacock-feather-fly-brush--at
first, just for a second, she felt very glad; and then, just for a
second, she felt very sorry; and she never knew or could remember
why. She forgot after awhile how she had been so full of sorrow
when Sister Justina said, Be Ashamed, and she could no longer
remember why she was glad; only a feeling of both was left--and she