Sister Angela said: "Yes. The dreadful fever. It often leaves none in
a house, and even sometimes none in a whole neighborhood to tell the
story."
If, as Sister Angela and the pretty grown person talked, there came to
Bessie Bell any thought of a great silent house, and a big white cat,
with just one bit of black spot on its tail, why if such a thought came
to Bessie Bell it came only to float away, away like white thistle
seed--drifting away as dreams drift.
When the two pretty grown ones had gone away, then Sister Angela had
nodded her head at the row of little girls, so that they might know
that they might go on eating their cakes, for of course the little
girls knew that they must hold their cakes in their hands and wait, and
not eat, when Sister Angela had shaken her head gently at them while
she talked to the two pretty ones. The little brown birds seemed to
know, too, that they could come back to the gravel to look for crumbs
again.
Then, as the little girls were again eating their cakes, one little
girl said: "Sister Angela, were they Sisters?"