I do not imagine that is Margaret's history. How far she may or may not have a vocation--that I leave; I know nothing about it. But I cannot help fancying that somebody did want her, and that it might be to put her out of somebody's way--Foolish woman! what am I saying? Why, Margaret was not five years old when she was professed. How can she have had any history of the kind? I simply do not understand it. Poor little Damia! I think Mother Gaillarde has given her rather hard measure. I found the child crying bitterly when she came into the children's south dormitory where I serve this week. "Why, whatever is the matter, little one?" said I. "O Sister Annora!" was all she could sob out. "Well, weep not thus broken-heartedly!" said I. "Tell me what it is, and let us see if it cannot be amended." "It's Erneburg!" sobbed little Damia. "Erneburg! But Erneburg and thou art friends!" "Oh yes, we're friends enough! only Mother Gaillarde won't let me give her the tig." And little Damia indulged in a fresh burst of tears. "Give her what?" I said. "My tig! The tig she gave me. And now I must carry it all night long! She might have let me just give it her!" I thought I saw how matters stood. "You have been playing?" "Yes, playing at "`Carry my tig To Poynton Brig--' "and Erneburg gave me a tig, and I can't give it back. Mo--other Gaillarde won't le-et me!" with a fresh burst of sobs. "Now, whatever is all this fuss?" asked Mother Gaillarde, from the other end of the room. "Sister, do keep these children quiet." But Mother Ada came to us. "What is the matter?" she said in her icicle voice. Little Damia was crying too much to speak, and I had to tell her that the children had been playing at a game in which they touched one another if they could, and it was deemed a terrible disgrace to be touched without being able to return it. "What nonsense!" said Mother Ada. "They had better not be allowed to play at such silly games. Go to sleep immediately, Damia: do you hear? Give over crying this minute." I wondered whether Mother Ada thought that joy and sorrow could as easily be stopped as a tap could be turned to stop water. Little Damia could not stop crying so instantly as this: and Mother Ada told her if she did not, she should have no fruit to-morrow: which made her cry all the more. Mother Gaillarde then marched up, and gave the poor child an angry shake: and that produced screams instead of sobbing. "Blessed saints, these children!" said Mother Gaillarde. "I wish there never were any! With all reverence I say it, I do think if the Almighty could have created men and women grown-up, it would have saved a world of trouble. But I suppose He knows best.--Damia, stop that noise! If not, I'll give thee another shake."