"That's my good child," said she. "Well, come down to the sacristy in about half an hour, and we will get them all out, and consider them. We want to have everything in apple-pie order, you see." And the good Mother bustled away.
"So I must leave my writing and go to working, it seems." said I, rather pettishly, I fear, for I do love my translating, and I am not devoted to cut-work and darning, though, thanks to dear Mother, I rather excel in both these arts. "However, 'tis to please Mother Gertrude, and 'tis all in the day's work. But what is the matter, Amice?" I added, seeing tears in her eyes; "surely you need not think so much of a word from Mother Gertrude. You know 'tis her way?"
"I know it," answered Amice. "I ought to have knelt at her feet and thanked her for her reproof, instead of feeling hurt. I have lost a chance for exercising holy humility. I can go down to the sacristy and do it when you meet her there."
"I'll tell you a better way," said I. "Get a piece of linen and set yourself to work in earnest to practise the stitches, so that you can help her another time; for you know, dear, you really don't work very neatly, because you won't keep your mind on your work. You are always wool-gathering—maybe I should say meditating—about something else. Come now, that will be the best way. I am sure Mother will be willing to have me teach you, or to show you herself."
"Thank you, sister Rosamond; but really I don't perceive such a great difference between our work as you do!" said Amice, coldly. "It will be time to come to the sacristy when I am asked."
"Just as you please," said I, rather vexed. "I thought you wished a chance for holy humility, that's all."
And I came away without another word, and went down to the sacristy, where Mother Gertrude and the Sacristine had all the vestments spread out in great array. There was one old cambric cope done in cut-work so fine as to resemble lace, but so worn and decayed that it fairly broke with its own weight.
"What a pity!" said the Sacristine. "Do you think you could mend it, Rosamond? There is not such another—no, not at Glastonbury itself, Father Fabian says."
"I don't believe it can be mended!" said I, considering it. "You see the fabric is so old there is nothing to hold the darning thread. But if I had a piece of fine cambric, I think I can work another like it. At any rate, I can try; and if I don't succeed, there will be no great harm done."
The Mothers were both pleased, and Mother Superior coming in, the matter was laid before her.