they too were learning their catechism and having leave to play in the
convent-garden.

To her brothers Horieneke had now become a sacred thing, like a guardian
angel who watched over them everywhere; and they dared do no mischief
when she was by. She no longer played with them after school; she was now
their "big sister," to whom they softly whispered the favours which they
wished to get out of mother.

When Trientje saw her sister coming home in the distance, she put out her
little arms and then would not let her go. For mother, Horieneke had to
wash the dishes, darn the stockings and, when the baby cried, sit for
hours rocking it in the cradle or dandling it on her lap, like a little
young mother.

Holding Trientje by the hand and carrying the other on her arm, she would
walk along the paths of the garden and then put them both down on the
bench in the box arbour, while she tended the plants and shrubs that were
beginning to shoot.

In the evening, when the bell rang for benediction, she called all her
little brothers and they went off to church together. From every side
came wives in hooded cloaks and lads in wooden shoes that stamped on the
great floor till it echoed in the silent nave.

The choir was a semicircular, homely little chapel, with narrow pointed
windows, black at this hour, like deep holes, with leads outlining saints
in shapeless dark patches of colour. The altar was a mass of burning
candles; and a flickering gleam fell on the brass candlesticks, the
little gold leaves and the artificial flowers and on the corners of the