Part 28 (2/2)

”But what will become of him? He will get more and more savage.” Miss Dingle ran after the cat, who put up his tail and trotted away, eluding her. She came back, telling Evelyn that she might see the devil if she wished. ”That is to say, if you are not afraid. He's in that corner, and I don't like to go there. I have hunted him out of these bushes--you need not be afraid, my rosary has been over them all.”

Evelyn could see that Miss Dingle wished her to exorcise the dangerous corner, and she offered to do so.

”You have two rosaries, you might lend me one.”

”No, I don't think I could. I want two, one for each hand, you see.... I have not seen you in the garden this last day or two.

You've been away, haven't you?”

”I've been in Rome.”

”In Rome! Then why don't you go and hunt him out... frighten him away? You don't need a rosary if you have touched the precious relics. You should be able to drive him out of the garden, and out of the park too, though the park is a big place. But here comes Sister Mary John. You will tell me another time if you've brought back anything that the Pope has worn.”

Sister Mary John came striding over the broken earth, followed by her jackdaw. The bird stopped to pick up a fat worm, and the nun sent Miss Dingle away very summarily.

”I can't have you here, Alice. Go to the summer-house and worry the devil away with your holy pictures. I've no time for you, dear,” she said to the jackdaw, who had alighted on her shoulder; ”and I have been looking for you everywhere,” she said, turning from her bird to Evelyn. ”You promised me--But I suppose digging tired you?”

”No, it was not that, Sister, only the sun came out and the warmth was so delicious; I am afraid I am easily beguiled.”

”We are all easily beguiled,” Sister Mary John answered somewhat sharply. ”Now we must try to get on with our digging. You can help me a little with it, can't you?” And looking up and down a plot about ten yards long and twenty feet wide, protected by a yew-hedge, she said, ”This is the rhubarb-bed. And this piece,” she said, walking to another plot between the yew-hedge and the gooseberry bushes, ”will have to be dug up. We were short of vegetables last year.”

”You speak very lightly, Sister, of so much digging. Do you never get tired?” So that she might not lose heart altogether, Sister Mary John told her one of these beds had been dug up in autumn, and that no more would be required than the hoeing out of the weeds.

”Is hoeing lighter work than digging?”

”You will find out soon.” Evelyn set to work; but when she had cleared a large piece of weeds she had to go over the ground again, having missed a great many. ”But you will soon get used to the work.

Now, there's the dinner bell. Are you so tired as all that?”

”Well, you see, I have never done any digging before.”

After dinner Sister Mary John without further words told her she was to go in front with the dibble and make holes for the potatoes, for an absent-minded person could not be trusted with the seed potatoes-- she would be sure to break the shoots. The next week they were engaged in sowing French beans and scarlet runners, and Evelyn thought it rather unreasonable of the sister to expect her to know by instinct that French beans should not be set as closely together as the scarlet runners, and she laughed outright when the sister said, ”But surely you know that broad beans must be trodden firmly into the ground?” Sister Mary John noticed her laugh. ”Work in the garden suits her,” she said to herself, ”she is getting better; only we must be careful against a relapse. Now, Evelyn, we must weed the flower beds, or there will be no flowers for the Virgin in May.” And they weeded and weeded, day after day, filling in the gaps with plants from the nursery. A few days later came the seed sowing, the mignonette, sweet pea, stocks, larkspur, poppies, and nasturtiums-- all of which should have been sown earlier, the nun said, only the season was so late, and the vegetables had taken all their time.

”They all like to see flowers on the altar, but not one of them will tie up her habit and dig, and they are as ignorant as you are, dear.”

”Sister, that is unkind. I have learned as much as can be expected in a month.”

”You aren't so careless as you were.” The two women walked a little way, and then they sat for a long time looking into the distant park, enjoying the soft south wind blowing over it. Evelyn would have liked to have sat there indefinitely, and far too soon did the nun remind her that time was going by and they must return to their work. ”We have had some warm nights lately and the wallflowers are out; come and look at them, dear.” And forgetful of her, Sister Mary John rose and went towards the flower garden. Evelyn was too tired to follow, and she sat watching Sister Mary John, who seemed as much part of the garden as the wind, or the rain, or the sun.

XXII

A cold shower struck the windows of the novitiate.

”Was there ever such weather? Will it never cease raining and blowing?” the novices cried, and they looked through the panes into the windy garden. Next day the same dark clouds rolled overhead, with gleams of suns.h.i.+ne now and then lighting up the garden and the distant common, where sometimes a horseman was seen galloping at the close of day, just as in a picture.

”How wet he will be when he gets home!” a novice would sometimes say, and the conversation was not continued.

”I wonder if we shall ever have fine weather again?” broke in another.

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