"Now it strikes me," said I, "that the most pleasant place to wait will be in the carriage; there we can sit and talk quite comfortably." "Oh, no," she said, with a sort of half laugh, "it is stuffy and horrid. I greatly prefer the fresh air. I have reason to suppose you do not object to conversing under a tree. I see a promising bit of shade a little farther on." "Would it be wise to go so far from the carriage?" I asked. "Have you left in it anything of value?" Mother Anastasia was more animated than I had ever seen her before when in the uniform of the house. "Oh, pshaw!" she answered. "You know the people around here do not steal things out of carriages. Let us step on." "But first," I said, "I will run down and pull the carriage out of the way of passing vehicles. It now stands almost across the road." With a movement of impatience, she put her hand upon my arm. "Don't trouble yourself about that hack; let it stand where it is. I wish to speak with you, and do not let us waste our time." I had no objection to speaking with Mother Anastasia, and, giving no further thought to the abandoned vehicle, I walked with her to a spot where a clump of straggling locust-trees threw a scanty shade upon the sidewalk. I could not but feel that my companion had something important to say to me, for she was evidently a good deal agitated. She stepped a little in front of me, and then turned and faced me. "There is no place to sit down here," she said, "but I'm not tired, are you?" I assured her that I was not, and would as soon talk standing as sitting. "Now, then," she began, "tell me about yourself. What have you been doing? What are your plans?" "My plans!" I cried. "Of what importance are my plans and actions? I thought you wished to speak to me of Sylvia." She smiled. "There is really nothing to say about that young person, of whom, by the way, you should not speak as 'Sylvia.' She is now a full member of the sisterhood, and has accepted the name of 'Sister Hagar.' We found that the other sisters would not like it if an exception were made in her favor, in regard to her name." "'Hagar!'" I groaned. "Horrible!" "Oh, no," replied Mother Anastasia, "there is nothing horrible about it. 'Hagar' is a little harsh, perhaps, but one soon gets used to that sort of thing." "I can never get used to it," I said. "My dear Mr. Vanderley," said the Mother Superior, speaking very earnestly, but with a gentleness that was almost affectionate, "I wish I could impress upon your mind that there is no need of your getting used to the name of our young sister, or of your liking it or disliking it. You ought thoroughly to understand, from what she has told you, and from what I have told you, that she never can be anything to you, and that, out of regard to yourself, if to no one else, you should cease to think of her as I see you do think." "As long as I live in this world," I replied, "I shall continue to think of her as I do think."