It was quiet in the garden. Quieter than it had been on the uplands. There had been merry laughter there, and songs and jests from the children. Here there were only the twitter of 59 birds, the rustle of the leaves in the breeze, and the humming of gold belted bees for company. So quiet was it that presently some little birds, seeing that they had nothing to fear from the small maiden sewing so diligently, flew down from the apple tree and began to peck at the grass at her very feet. Jeanne smiled as she saw them, and sat quite still so as not to frighten them. Soon a skylark rose from the grass in the meadow lying beyond the orchard, and in a burst of song flew up, and up into the air, mounting higher and higher until he shone a mere black dot in the sky. Still singing he began to descend, circling as he came earthward, dropping suddenly like an arrow straight into the grass, his song ceasing as he disappeared.
Jeanne had let her work fall into her lap as she watched the flight of the bird, now she took it up again and began to sew steadily. The air was still athrill with the skylark’s melody, and the child sewed on and on, every pulse in harmony with her surroundings. All at once something caused her to look up.
There was a change of some kind in the atmosphere. What it was she could not tell, but she was conscious of something that she did not understand. She glanced up at the sky, but not a cloud marred its azure. It was as serene, as dazzling as it had been all day. Bewildered by she knew not what she picked up her sewing again, and tried to go on with it, but she could not. She laid down the garment, and once more glanced about her. As she did so she saw a light between her and the church.
It was on her right side, and as it came nearer to her it grew in brightness. A brightness that was dazzling. She had never seen anything like it. Presently it enveloped her. Thrilled, 60 trembling, awed, too frightened to move, the little maid closed her eyes to shut out the glory that surrounded her. And then, from the midst of the radiance there came a voice; sweeter than the song of the skylark, sweeter even than the chime of the bells she loved so well. It said:
“Be good, Jeanne, be good! Be obedient, and go frequently to church. I called thee on the uplands, but thou didst not hear. Be good, Jeanne, be good.”
That was all. The voice ceased. Presently the light lessened; it faded gradually, and soon ceased to glow. The little girl drew a long breath, and fearfully lifted her eyes. There was naught to be seen. The garden looked the same as before. The little birds still pecked at her feet, the leaves still rustled in the breeze, the church wore its usual aspect. Could she have fallen asleep and dreamed, she asked herself.
At this moment Isabeau called to her from the door of the cottage:
“Take Catherine, Jeanne,” she said. “I do not know what ails the child. She frets so. I will brew a posset. Do you attend to her a few moments. Why, what ails you, my little one?” she broke off abruptly as Jeanne came to her. “Is aught amiss? You look distraught.”
Jeanne opened her lips to reply. She thought to tell her mother of the wonderful thing that had happened, and then, something in Isabeau’s expression checked the words. Perhaps the good woman was unduly worried. She was in truth overburdened with the cares of her household. Little Catherine was ailing, and an ailing child is always exacting. Whatever it may have been, Jeanne found the words checked on her 61 lips, and was unable to relate what had occurred. A girl trembling on the brink of womanhood is always shy and timid about relating the thoughts and emotions that fill her. The unusual experience was such as needed a sympathetic and tender listener. The mother was too anxious over the younger child to be in a receptive mood for such confidences. So when she said again:
“Is anything amiss, Jeanne?” The little girl only shook her head, and said in a low tone: