Sister Barbara shuddered. "I will never do so unless I am compelled by force," said she. "I had not been three weeks under this roof, before I felt that it would break my heart to leave it; but now that I know more of the matter, my mind is made up. I will remain in your good father's family and teach my little school as long as I am allowed to do so. I love my children, and they love me, and I hope I am doing some good in the world."
"And if they require you to return to the convent?" said Jack.
"Then I shall refuse; and if I am pressed I shall tell my reasons," said Sister Barbara; "and after that, things must be as they will, or rather, as the Lord pleases. Each day's trouble is sufficient for the same day. I shall always be thankful that I was allowed to learn what a Christian home was like."
"I am sure it was a blessed day that brought you here, madam," said Master Lucas, who had entered the room in time to hear the last words. "You have been like sunshine in the house ever since you came into it. I would all religious persons were like you, and above all that you could put some of your own bright spirit into my poor Anne. I know not what to do with her. I do not like to find fault, and besides it does no good; but it hardly seems fair that she should spoil the comfort of the whole family as she does. But as for you I do trust, madam, that you will never think of lodging elsewhere, so long as you can be content with such accommodations as simple folk like us have to offer."
"There is no fear of that, Master Lucas; I am only too happy here," replied Sister Barbara, smiling and sighing. "I never knew there were such kind people in the world as yourself and Dame Cicely. I only wish I could do aught to requite your kindness."
"And so you do, madam, so you do. To say nought of anything else, you have added much to my profit the last six months, by your skill in confectionery. But I am forgetting my errand. Son Jack, can you leave your books long enough for a walk this fine evening?"
"Surely, and with great pleasure, dear father,"' replied Jack. "It is not often you find time to walk with me."
"Nor have I the time now, for Simon has gone to Master Mayor's with the manchets and cold baked meats for the feast to-night; and I must be at home to send off the other matters. But here is little Peter come from Mary Brent to ask you to come down and see her lodger who lies very ill. Peter says he hath no infectious disease, but suffers from the effects of hardship and famine. It seems Davy's captain took him off a wreck on which he was floating, a few days before they came to port. He was very ill and all but starved; and Davy, like the good fellow he is, brought the poor man home to his mother's house."
"Has Davy returned, then? I am right glad to hear it," said Jack. "He was always a good lad, though he would go to sea in spite of the prior."
"I think none the worse of him for preferring to work and help his mother," observed the master baker. "But Mary would like you to come down and see the poor man; and hark ye, lad, you might as well carry a little basket with you, just some biscuits and manchets, and a jellied fowl. I had reserved two or three for ourselves, but we can well spare one, and it is just the meat for a sick man."