Presently they were viewing with interest all the beauties of the place. Here were fine, substantial, brick school buildings, one for the girls and another for the boys, where they were taught all useful and instructive arts. The broad fields were in a high state of cultivation, and the trees of the orchard gave promise of an abundant harvest, so laden were they with lingering blossoms and fast-forming fruit. This seemed to be the very choicest bit of the reservation, where years and years ago came the Jesuit priests, and where, during all this time, they had labored zealously for the temporal and spiritual welfare of the Indian children. Seated in a wheel chair, in a sunny exposure of the garden, they came upon a black-robed nun with another nun standing near her. As Bess and Henry West approached the one turned to meet them. What a dear, young face was that which upturned to meet Bess’ interested look. What an expression of human understanding lighted up the deep blue eyes, as the girl said to her, “Good morning, Sister; are you enjoying God’s beautiful sunshine?” “Yes, dear; Sister Mary Joseph can scarcely be inveigled indoors now that the sun is becoming so fervent. Well! Well!” the nun interrupted, “if here isn’t Henry West! See! Sister Mary Joseph, who has honored us with a visit today!” Henry West stepped forward holding his sombrero in his hands. “This is Miss Bess Fletcher, James’ sister;” he said, “and Bess, this is Sister Mary Joseph, and Sister Agnes.” Bess bent over the aged nun, who, with difficulty, lifted her hand. But, although the face was lined and seamed by the hand of time and the hardships of frontier life, the smiles of welcome and greeting were made of that kind of woof and warp which never show the ravages of age. Henry explained, “Sister Mary Joseph has been here ever since 1865, and has seen all the vicissitudes of St. Ignatius Mission.” Bess longed to hear the dear old woman relate some of the wonderful experiences which she had seen and in which she herself had been an important factor, but the bell was calling for the second mass, and as Sister Agnes was just then relieved from her duty by another nun, she asked Bess to accompany her to the church and sing. Henry West had gone on and joined James at the door. At the offertory Bess sang Mascagni’s _Ave Maria_, and as her soft, glorious voice arose and fell in beautiful tone waves, even Father Damien and the Indians held their breath for fear of losing a sound. When Bess had finished Sister Agnes kissed her cheek, and left the imprint of her own wet one. CHAPTER X A WESTERN TRAGEDY