"I remember she made a great goose of herself with her fine London airs! I wonder how my old lady ever endured her follies. 'Tis enough to bring her out of her grave to see the way things go on. Nieces, are you afraid of cows?"
This was asked as who should say—"If you are, prepare at once for banishment."
Fortunately we were able to give an answer which turned away the impending wrath.
"Oh no! Aunt Deborah!" answered Amabel, smiling. "When we were at St. Jean, each of us had her own cow to milk—Lucy's was Fanfan and mine was Cocotte. Ah, my poor Cocotte, I wonder who milks thee now!"
"We used both to help in the dairy, but Amabel more than I!" I added. "Mother St. Anne used to like to have me help her in the still-room."
Mrs. Deborah's frown relaxed, but Mrs. Chloe looked shocked.
"But did you really milk with your own hands, nieces?" she asked. "I do not think the nuns ought to have required that. Many ladies take an interest in their dairies. They overlook them and even skim the cream, and mould the butter, and make cheese-cakes and so on, but I never heard of a lady that milked! Did you, Sister Deborah?"
"Yes, I know a lady who milked an Ayrshire heifer this very morning!" returned Mrs. Deborah, smiling. "But in general, we employ maids for such services. Did you have no menials, lasses, that the nuns put you to such work? I thought convents always had lay sisters!"
"I believe they do in general, but our house was very poor, and the ladies did all the work with their own hands. Sister Lazarus who attended to the cooking was the daughter of a Marquis."
"The daughter of a Marquis a cook!" said Mrs. Chloe, in, a tone of absolute consternation. "But perhaps she did that kind of work for a penance. I have heard of such things."