Having made a second ineffectual dive for the strip of paper, the young woman had not patience enough left to bear so cool an evasion. “F. Chevreuse deserves a scolding for strewing this about,” she said.
The mother glanced at her with that sort of surprise which is more disconcerting than anger. Miss Ferrier blushed, but would not be so silenced.
“If you should oblige him to pick them up once,” she continued, “that would cure him.”
“Oblige him!” repeated the mother with a more emphasized coldness. “I never oblige F. Chevreuse to do anything. I should not dream of calling his attention to such a trifle. He has higher affairs on his mind. Now we will go.”
Their drive took them through the town by its longest avenue, Main Street, which followed the Saranac half-way to its source. School children in Crichton looked on Main Street as their meridian of longitude, and were under the impression that it reached from pole to pole. It crossed the Cocheco by the central one of three parallel bridges, climbed straight up the steep North Height, and stretched out into the country. The convent grounds were on the west bank of the Saranac, twenty acres of rough land, roughly enclosed, with an old tumble-down house that had been a tavern in the early days of Crichton. It was a desolate-looking place, with not a tree nor flower to be seen, but needed only time and labor to become a little Eden.
In the eyes of Sister Cecilia it was even now an Eden. Her ardent and generous nature, made still brighter by a beautiful Christian enthusiasm, saw in advance the blossom and fruit of unplanted trees, and seeds yet in the paper. Full of delight to her was all this planning and labor.
She was out-doors when the carriage drove up, in earnest consultation with two workmen, directing the laying out of the kitchen-garden, and, recognizing her visitors, hastened toward them with a cordial welcome. Sister Cecilia was a little over forty years of age, tall and graceful, and had one of those sunny faces that show heaven is already begun in the heart. When she smiled, the sparkling of her deep-blue eyes betrayed mirth and humor.
“Dread the labor?” she exclaimed, in answer to a question from Miss Ferrier. “Indeed not! I was so charmed with the idea of coming to this wild place that I had a scruple about it, and was almost afraid I ought not to be indulged. It is always delightful to begin at the beginning, and see the effect of your work.”
She led them about the place and told her plans. Here a grove was to be planted, there the path would wind, vines would be trained against this stone wall.