"Yes, dear Mother, if you are willing to keep me I shall be glad to
remain. It is good of you. How kind you all are!"
Very little more than that she could be induced to say, relapsing,
after a few words, into a sort of stupor or dream, from which very
often it was impossible to rouse her; and the Prioress dreaded these
long silences, and often asked herself what they could mean, if the
cause were a fixed idea... on which she was brooding. Or it might be
that Evelyn's mind was fading, receding. If so, the responsibility of
keeping her in the convent was considerable. A little time would,
however, tell them. Any religious instruction was, of course, out of
the question, and books would be fatal to her.
"Her mind requires rest," the Prioress said. "Even her music is a
mental excitement."
"I don't think that," Sister Mary John answered. "And as for work, I
have been thinking I might teach her a little carpentry. If plain
carpentry does not interest her sufficiently, she might learn to work
at the lathe."
"Your idea is a very good one, Sister Mary John. Go to her at once
and set her to work. It is terrible to think of her sitting brooding,
brooding."
"But on what is she brooding, dear Mother?"
"No doubt her father's death was a great shock."
And Sister Mary John went in search of Evelyn, and found her
wandering in the garden.
"Of what are you thinking, Sister?" As Evelyn did not answer, Sister
Mary John feared she resented the question. "You don't like me to
walk with you?"
"Yes I do, I don't mind; but I wonder if the Prioress likes me to be
here. Can you find out for me?"
"Why should you think we do not wish to have you here?"
"Well, you see, Sister--oh, it is no use talking." Her thoughts
seemed to float away, and it might be five or ten minutes before she
would speak again.
"I wish you would come to the woodshed, Sister. If not, I must leave
you."
"Oh, I'll go to the woodshed with you."
"And will you help me with my work?"
"I help you with your work!"
There was a long, narrow table in the woodshed--some planks laid upon
two tressels; and the walls were piled with all kinds of sawn wood,
deal planks, and rough timber, and a great deal of broken furniture
and heaps of shavings. The woodshed was so full of rubbish of all
kinds that there was only just room enough to walk up and down the
table. Sister Mary John was making at that time a frame for
cucumbers, and Evelyn watched her planing the deal boards, especially
interested when she pushed the plane down the edge of the board, and
a long, narrow shaving curled out of the plane, but asking no
questions.
"Now, wouldn't you like to do some work on the other side of the
table, Sister?"
Evelyn did not answer, and it was not that day nor the next, but at
the end of the week, that she was persuaded to take the pincers and
pull the nails out of an old board.
"And when you have done that, I will show you how to plane it."
She seemed to have very little strength--or was it will that she
lacked? The pincers often fell from her hands, and she would stand,
lost in reverie.
"Now, Sister, you have only pulled two nails out of that board in the
last ten minutes; it is really very tiresome of you, and I am waiting
for it."
"Do you really mean that you are waiting for this board? Do you want
it?"
"But of course; I shouldn't have asked you to draw the nails out of
it if I didn't," And it was by such subterfuges that she induced
Evelyn to apply herself. "Now, you won't think of anything until you
have drawn out every nail, will you? Promise me." Sister Mary John
put the pincers into her hand, and when the board was free of nails,
it seemed that Evelyn had begun to take an interest in the fate of
the board which she had prepared. She came round the table to watch
Sister Mary John planing it, and was very sorry when the nun's plane
was gapped by a nail which had been forgotten.
"This iron will have to go to the grinders."
"I am so sorry, Sister. Will you forgive me?"
"Yes, I'll forgive you; but you must try to pay attention."
When the cucumber-frame was finished Sister Mary John was busy making
some kitchen chairs, and the cutting out of the chair-backs moved
Evelyn's curiosity.
"Shall you really be able to make a chair that one can sit upon?"
"I hope so."
"Have you ever made one before?"
"Well, no, this is my first chair, but I made several stools."
The mystery of dovetailing was explained to Evelyn, and she learned
that glue was required.
"Now you may, if you like, melt the glue for me."
There was a stove in the adjoining shed, and Sister Mary John lighted
a fire and told Evelyn that she was to keep stirring the glue. "And
be sure not to let it burn." But when she came back twenty minutes
after, she found that Evelyn had wandered away from the stove to the
farther end of the shed to watch a large spider.
"Oh, Sister, just look at the spider! There is a fly in the web; see
how he comes out to seize his prey!"
"But, my goodness, Evelyn! what about my glue? There it is, all burnt
in the pot, and I shall have to take it to the kitchen and get hot
water and scrape it all out. It is really very tiresome of you."
When she returned with the glue, Evelyn said:
"You see, Sister, it is difficult to fix one's thoughts on a
glue-pot; the glue melts so slowly, and, watching the spider, I lost
count of the time. But I think I should like to saw something."
"That's a very good idea."
A saw was put into her hand, and half an hour after the sister came
to see how Evelyn had been getting on. "Why, you will be a first-rate
carpenter; you have sawn those boards capitally, wandering a little
from the line, it is true, but you will do better to-morrow."
Whenever Sister Mary John heard the saw cease she cried out, "Now,
Sister Evelyn, what are you thinking about? You are neglecting your
work." And Evelyn would begin again, and continue until her arm
ached.
"Here is Mother Abbess."
"See, dear Mother, what Evelyn has been doing. She sawed this board
through all by herself, and you see she has sawn it quite straight,
and she has learned how to plane a board; and as for glueing, she
does it capitally!"