CHAPTER XI.

NEW PROJECTS.

Jack and Sister Barbara were soon on the best of terms, and he learned to love the kind genial lady as well as if he had known her all his life. He was both amused and touched to see how she enjoyed the ease and freedom of her present life, and with what a zest she entered into all the family plans. She was very particular in observing all the canonical hours, and she fasted on Fridays, as indeed they all did, but her fasts were very different matters from poor Anne's, who ate hardly enough at any time to keep soul and body together. Sister Barbara seemed to think it quite enough to abstain from flesh, like the rest of the family, and she cooked many nice little messes for fast-days, telling Anne when she objected that they were just such as they always had in the convent. She took a deep interest in all the children in the neighborhood, especially in the babies, and showed a remarkable skill in tending the latter, which certainly must have come by nature.

"For, do you know," she said one day, "I never saw a little babe near at hand till I saw Dame Burton's?"

"Sure you never were meant for a nun, madam," said Master Lucas somewhat bluntly. "You should have married some gallant gentleman, and had a household of your own. You would have ruled it well, I warrant you."

Anne looked shocked, as she was apt to do at her father's blunt speeches and sallies; but Sister Barbara sighed and smiled as she answered—

"Maybe so, maybe so, Master Lucas. I had little voice in the matter, anyhow. I grew up in the convent, and never knew any other life, so I took the veil naturally when I came of age."

"I wish I had grown up in that way," said Anne. "I should then have known nothing else, and should have had no natural ties to keep me down and bind me to earth."

"Anne, who do you suppose did so arrange matters that you should be born in a family, and have these natural ties to bind you down to earth?" asked Jack abruptly. "Who is it that has made all these relations of parent and child, brother and sister, husband and wife?"

"God, I suppose," said Anne, after a little hesitation.

"I suppose He did without doubt, since the Psalm says that children are an heritage from the Lord, and the man is blest who hath his quiver full of them; and again, 'He maketh the barren woman to keep house and to be a joyful mother of children.' Do you not think He knew what He was about when He made all these family ties? Did He not know what was the life best fitted to promote holiness?"

"I suppose then you would have every one go on in earthly carnal courses," said Anne, somewhat tartly, and coloring deeply. "You would have nobody lead a religious consecrated life save those who have no friends or relations?"

"I would have all men and women lead religious lives, ay, and lives consecrated to God's service," replied Jack with emphasis. "I would have all they do consecrated to God, yea, even eating and drinking; but I would have them religious in the state where He hath placed them, and in the duties He hath marked out for them, instead of making fantastic duties of their own. I would have them serve Him in their own families and among their neighbors, and not selfishly shut themselves up in a cloister or hermitage. I do not believe God's Word ever gave warrant for any such conduct as that. Almost all the Bible saints that I can learn anything about were married, and had servants and horses and cattle, and overlooked them as gentlemen and farmers do nowadays."

"But it is so much easier to serve God in the cloister," said Anne, in a more subdued voice.

"I am not so sure of that, dear sister," remarked Sister Barbara, who had been listening attentively. "The temptations were of a different kind perhaps, but I am not sure but they were as trying. Think of all the little bickerings and heart-burnings we used to have among us; think how much jealousy there was of the favor of the prioress, and how many tales were told from one to another. And I am sure you can see that there were a good many hindrances even in the convent. Besides, to say truth," continued Sister Barbara, blushing a little, "I don't know how it is, but I seem to enjoy my prayers now a great deal more than I did when I had little or nothing else to do than to pray. I do believe one reason is that my health is so much better now that I run about so much in the open air, and have so many things to think about."

"I am sure you are looking better, madam," said Cicely. "You have such a fine color. I wish I could see our Anne's cheeks so red."

"I have been very happy in this house," said Sister Barbara, with tears in her bright gray eyes. "I am so thankful to Master Lucas for bringing me here, if only that I might see what a home is like. I never knew before. When I go back to the cloister, I shall take pleasure in thinking how many homes there are in the land, and how good and happy the people are in them; and I shall feel a great deal more hopeful about the world than ever I did before."

"Why should you ever go back to the cloister, madam?" asked Master Lucas. "Why should you not stay and make your home with us so long as you need one? One house is large enough and to spare, and one more makes no difference, even if you did not pay for your keeping, which you do and more too. We are but simple folk, 'tis true, and you a born lady, but yet—"

"Speak not of that, I pray you, Master Lucas, my good friend," interrupted the sister. "I will abide with you for the present, since you are so kind, and we will let the coming time take care for itself. Doubtless it will be ordered for the best. I would I could find more to make myself useful."

"Dear lady, don't fret about that," said Cicely. "I am sure you are a comfort to all of us. Why, the very little ones who come to the shop are ready to worship you, if you do but speak to them."

"Why should you not set up a school for little girls, madam, since you are so fond of children?" asked Jack.

"Hush, my son!" said his father.

"Pray let him speak," said Sister Barbara, eagerly. "What were you thinking of?"

"There are so many little maids about here," said Jack, "who are too young to be of much use at home, who yet are old enough to learn to read and work, ay, and to learn all kinds of mischief. Why should you not gather them into a school and teach them all the good you know?"

"That seems to me a good motion," said Sister Barbara. "I used to be thought good at teaching, you know, Anne."

"Yes, you were far better and more skilful than any one else in the convent, except—" Anne checked herself and turned pale.

And Sister Barbara sighed and was silent for a moment.

Jack guessed that they were speaking of Agnes Harland, and he sighed in his turn.

"I love children and young folks so well, I believe that is the secret of the matter," said Sister Barbara, recovering her cheerful tone. "I should love dearly to have a dozen or so of the little things together every day and teach them to knit and spin, and perhaps to do white seam and cut-work. It would be helping them to earn a living as well as to be useful at home, would it not?"

"It would indeed, madam; and you might teach them their religious duties at the same time."

"I will talk to the priest about it," said Sister Barbara.

"I am sure our Sir William will be pleased," remarked Cicely. "He has always wished for a girls' school. But it seems like a come down in life for you to be teaching a dame-school for children such as these, not young ladies, but daughters of tradesfolk and the like."

"I suppose our Lord died for tradesfolk and laborers as well as for gentlefolks," said Jack smiling.

"That is very true," said Sister Barbara; "and a religious person ought not to think any office too lowly which is done for the good of others. I have heard that our holy father the Pope washes the feet of twelve old men every Holy Thursday."

"Yes, with a gold basin and a damask cloth," said Jack dryly. "Master Fleming told me about that. He has seen the ceremony."

"I should like to meet this same Master Fleming," said the baker.

"He bade me say to you, father, that he desired to make your acquaintance," said Jack eagerly. "I had so much to think about, I had well-nigh forgotten the message. He is Sir William's cousin as I told you, and is to stay here a month or more. I am sure you will like him, for he has travelled a great deal, and you know you love travellers' tales."

"Ay, that I do. Well, we will go to see him, and have him and Sir William home to supper. He has been kind to you, and that is enough to make me love him."

"Then must you love all the world, and yourself most of all, for all the world is kind to me," said Jack; "but when will you go?"

"Directly, and you will go with me. I am right curious to see this friend of yours."

"Jack is graver than ever," said Cicely, when Jack had left the room.

"He seems a wondrous good lad," observed Sister Barbara. "I had thought all boys rough and cruel."

"They are so, too many of them," answered Cicely; "but our Jack was never like other boys, even before he took this last turn. And yet, though Jack is so grave and thoughtful ever since he came home, he seems happy too. I see him sometimes sit thinking by himself, and his face shines as if there were a light within."

"He is much changed," said Anne. "I cannot make him out. He is not like the same boy he was last winter."

Anne was right. In such circumstances and times as I have been describing, character develops fast, and Jack had grown from a schoolboy into a man.