A few hours later I called "Bess!" from the gravel below. "Are you ready?" Then I heard a buzz of excited voices from the nursery, and a great fight, going on over the winding round of a comforter, and Bess leapt down two stairs at a time and joined me in the garden. [Sidenote: A WALK IN THE CLOISTERS] I had my snowshoes on, so I had no sense of cold, and round my shoulders heavy furs. Mouse sported before us rather like a benevolent luggage train, whilst the two terriers, Tramp and Tartar, cut capers, barked, and sniffed and frisked. These hunted in the bushes, darted in and out, and sought for rabbits under every stone and tree. They yelped and put their noses frantically into holes and corners. Whether the rabbits were real or imaginary it was impossible to say. Bright sunshine fell upon the old red sandstone of which the later part of the old Abbey Farmery is built, and cast an opalescent glare on the snow-covered roof. The old yew hedges stood forth like banks of verdant statuary, in places where the snow had melted, and on the top of a stone ball stood the blue-necked peacock. The day was deliciously crisp, clear, and invigorating, and Bess, as she ran along, laughed and snowballed me and the dogs, and so we wandered away into the cloisters. "Tell me about it all," said Bess at last, confidentially, after a time of breathless frolicking with the dogs. "Miss Weldon talks so much that I can never understand her." Then I told Bess in a few simple words about the cloisters. "There was, first of all, dear," I said, "a party of Saxon ladies who lived at the abbey, and the most beautiful was Milburgha, their abbess. She came here to avoid a wicked Welsh prince, and she rode a beautiful milk-white steed. And she was very holy." "I should be holy, if I rode a milk-white steed," said Bess, impulsively, "I am sure I should." And then I added rather irrelevantly, "St. Milburgha kept geese." "Saints and princesses always do," answered Bess, authoritatively. "I know what they did, they combed their hair with golden combs, and talked to emperors in back gardens. Then they always had flocks of goats or geese. I don't think they could get on without that, mama," said my little maid, with a gasp. "It must be very amusing," she continued, "to be a saint or a princess and have a crown. They have them in Bible picture-books. Anyway, they never have any lessons or governesses, hardly mamas, and they only talk to the animals." [Illustration: _Photo by Frith._ THE CLOISTER GARDEN.] "But, my little girl," I urged, "saints have to be _very_ good; and then you must remember, Bess, that princesses in all the stories have to accomplish terrible tasks, and saints to endure terrible pains." "Worse," asked Bess, "than taking horrible, nasty, filthy medicines, worse than going to have teeth taken out by the dentist?" "Worse than that," I answered. [Sidenote: THE CROWN OF MARTYRDOM]