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.