The foster-sisters

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"I shall remove to another house before that change is made, my child;—even to that house which is not made with hands. But do not let it grieve you over-much. To me it is a joyful prospect, especially as I shall leave the little flock I have ruled so long, in comparative ease and safety. But now listen, my little ones, to the last words I may be able to say to you—for my strength may fail at any time, and I believe my end to be nearer than Father Brousseau thinks."

She then proceeded to give us much advice regarding our future conduct—excellent, I am sure, from her own way of looking at things, though some of it was quite impossible to any one living in the world. But most of it was very good, and has always been of use to me.

And I may say here, that since I have myself had the ordering of a family of young people, I have found the advantage of many things I learned under our dear mother's rule—such as the habit of doing everything in the exact time of it, and not letting one duty, as it were, tread on the heels of another. At St. Jean, when the bell struck the hour of recreation, all work must be dropped on the instant; and the same was true of our play. One might think this would be often very inconvenient, but knowing that it must be so, one learned to make one's arrangements accordingly, and thus much time was saved.

Then we acquired habits of neatness and order, to do even the least thing in the best way, and turn everything to the best account. Many a child's garment have I seen got out of bits of linen or flannel, that an ordinary English housewife would throw away; many a warm and even pretty rug, for the feet of an invalid or an old person. And if the girls in our school can darn a rent, or put on a patch, or work a heel into a worn-out stocking, better than anybody in the duchy—though I say it that shouldn't—it is owing at second hand to the teaching of dear Mother Prudentia.

Of course, Amabel and I waited with no little impatience for the arrival of our traveling companion. She came about three o'clock, and was kindly received and lodged in the most comfortable place the sisters could prepare for her, while Amabel and myself waited on her. She was a very good specimen of a middle-class English woman—fat and fair, with a clear, rosy complexion, and undeniably red hair, which, nevertheless, was both pretty and becoming. She was about forty years old, and had a frank, motherly way with her which made me take to her at once. She looked a good deal surprised and rather awe-stricken at the strange place in which she found herself, but she responded with all due politeness to the apologies which Sister Agnes made concerning her lodgings, and which we translated to her as well as we could—for though Mrs. Thorpe could speak French after a fashion, she did not understand it well.

"My dears, do ask the good lady not to trouble herself," said she, at last. "What is good enough for her is certainly good enough for any one like me. I am a sailor's wife anyhow, and used to roughing it in all sorts of ways."

Sister Agnes was finally satisfied, and took her departure; and Mrs. Thorpe sat down on the side of the narrow bed and began to unpack the great bag she had brought in her hand.

"Your father has sent you each a purse of money," said she, producing them; "there ought to be five guineas in each; count them and see. Always count money as soon as you receive it. Is it all right?"

We satisfied her on this point. What a wonderful novelty it seemed to have some money of our own.

"I am to provide you new clothes, and all you want for your journey," continued Mrs. Thorpe. "But I think, if you will allow me to judge, that you had better not buy a great deal in Toulon, as fashions are so different here and in England, and I fancy my ladies, your aunts, will not much relish French ways."