The foster-sisters

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"We shall have the great Guest of all, dear Sister!" said Amabel. "And where He is, we shall not miss any one else."

"That is true, my child, and yet—it is very hard to see the changes which have been wrought in this house by time and the malice of our enemies. But His will be done! There, children, I believe we have made the best of everything now."

"Sister, let me climb up the ladder, and brush up St. Francis and St. Bernard a little," said I, looking up to where St. Francis stood, with his hands upraised as if he were imploring some celestial power to come down and dust him.

"Well, if you are not afraid—I am too unsteady on my feet to venture upon the ladder any more; but there is a good place to stand, once you are up there."

I was as sure-footed as a goat, so I was not at all timid about ascending the ladder. St. Francis was placed on a little platform or balcony, where, as the Sister said, there was good standing room. Amabel steadied the long ladder, while I ascended, and then reached me up the duster and what else I wanted on the end of a long-handled brush, such as here we call a Pope's head—I would not like to be the one who called it so there. I was holding on to a kind of railing with one hand, and putting St. Francis hair to rights with the other, thinking to myself that the good saint looked as if he liked it, when the Church door opened, and who should come in, breathless as if from running, but Mother Prudentia.

"Sister, you are to come to Mother Superior's room at once, and you also, my children. Lose no time, but Lucille, be careful how you come down."

But I was already on the floor, and ready to follow Mother Prudentia, to the presence of the Superior. Here we found all the sisterhood assembled, and a scared bewildered looking set they were—our dear Mother was as calm as usual, though a pink spot shone on her usually pale cheeks, increasing the brilliancy of her always remarkable eyes. As soon as we were all assembled in order, she addressed us.

"My Mothers and Sisters and you, my children, I have just received by the hands of a special messenger, a letter from the Bishop of this Diocese, in which he tells me that he will arrive within an hour upon a special visitation, to enquire into certain alleged scandals and disorders prevailing in this community."

She paused a moment, and the sisters looked at her and at each other in utter amazement. Amabel gave my arm a little pinch and whispered very softly, "Desireè."

"I can safely say, that I know of nothing in my family which should bring such a charge upon us!" resumed the Superior. "But innocence is not always a protection from the hands of ungodly and cruel men; not that I would be understood, as applying such epithets to Mon seignor the Bishop. Doubtless he has been misinformed. What I would impress on you, my mothers and sisters, is that you should endeavor in this extremity, to preserve an equal and tranquil spirit, wholly resigned to the will of Heaven, whatever may happen. I will not disguise to you, my apprehensions that this visit may be the prelude to great changes—perhaps to grievous hardships and humiliations—possibly even to the breaking up of our little community, which has borne so many storms already. Be that as it may, our duty is plain. Let us set before us the example of the noble Mother Angelique, who, when calumniated and heaped with insults in the very house where she had ruled as Superior, bore all with patience, and never retorted on her persecutors by a look or a word, thus making her enemies ashamed of their cruel malignity. Above all, let us remember that our sufferings may be rendered an acceptable offering to God. My mothers and sisters, let us in the little time that remains, seek the protection of the Queen of Heaven!"