The next day was some Saint's day; I forget whose at this distance of time, and Sister Sacristine, like a faithful woman that she was, was just as anxious to have everything in order as if we were expecting the presence of all the nobles in the country, instead of only a few poor peasants in the Church, and our little band of Mothers and sisters in the choir. "There will not be many people here!" said the poor lady with a sigh as she settled her chairs. "Ah! Children, many a time have I seen this great church filled from end to end with ladies and gentlemen-I remember when poor Sister Augustine was professed, her father and mother came with a cavalcade, which almost filled the Church of itself; and they offered that pair of silver gilt vases on the Shrine of St. Anne. But times have changed since then, we shall have no one to-morrow." "We shall have the great Guest of all, dear Sister!" said Amabel. "And where He is, we shall not miss any one else." "That is true, my child, and yet—it is very hard to see the changes which have been wrought in this house by time and the malice of our enemies. But His will be done! There, children, I believe we have made the best of everything now." "Sister, let me climb up the ladder, and brush up St. Francis and St. Bernard a little," said I, looking up to where St. Francis stood, with his hands upraised as if he were imploring some celestial power to come down and dust him. "Well, if you are not afraid—I am too unsteady on my feet to venture upon the ladder any more; but there is a good place to stand, once you are up there." I was as sure-footed as a goat, so I was not at all timid about ascending the ladder. St. Francis was placed on a little platform or balcony, where, as the Sister said, there was good standing room. Amabel steadied the long ladder, while I ascended, and then reached me up the duster and what else I wanted on the end of a long-handled brush, such as here we call a Pope's head—I would not like to be the one who called it so there. I was holding on to a kind of railing with one hand, and putting St. Francis hair to rights with the other, thinking to myself that the good saint looked as if he liked it, when the Church door opened, and who should come in, breathless as if from running, but Mother Prudentia. "Sister, you are to come to Mother Superior's room at once, and you also, my children. Lose no time, but Lucille, be careful how you come down." But I was already on the floor, and ready to follow Mother Prudentia, to the presence of the Superior. Here we found all the sisterhood assembled, and a scared bewildered looking set they were—our dear Mother was as calm as usual, though a pink spot shone on her usually pale cheeks, increasing the brilliancy of her always remarkable eyes. As soon as we were all assembled in order, she addressed us.