Marriage -- Fiction; Runaway husbands -- Fiction; Social settlements -- Fiction; Women -- Fiction
The four girls talked late into the night, and after a picnic the next
day, a Sunday, Julia felt as if she loved them all, and she and Kennedy
began shyly to call each other by their given names. Peter and George
did not go on the picnic, having plans of their own for the day, but the
others spent a dreamy day on Baker's Beach, and the two older boys,
joining the group at dinner, ended the holiday happily. Julia carried
away definite impressions to be brooded over in her quiet times. The
Scotts were "ladies," of course. Somehow, although they were very poor,
they all worked very hard, and all dressed very shabbily, they were
"ladies," and knew only nice people. The sisters were really stronger
and braver than the brothers, and loved their brothers more than they
were loved. Julia wondered why. Also she came a little reluctantly to
the conclusion, as girls at twenty, whether they be Julias or Barbaras,
usually do, that if there were a great many nice young men in the world,
there were a great many marriageable girls, too. No girl could expect a
very wide choice of adorers, there were too many other girls. And
affairs of the heart, and offers of marriage, occurred much more often
in books than in life.
Two or three times a week Miss Toland liked to rise early and go to the
beautiful eight o'clock mass at St. Anne's, the big institution for
unfortunate girls that was not far from The Alexander Toland
Neighbourhood House. There was no church in the immediate vicinity, and
in asking for permission to come to the convent chapel, Miss Toland had
felt herself doing no extraordinary thing, had felt almost within her
rights.
But the good nuns in charge of St. Anne's had whetted her appetite for
the experience by interposing unexpected objections. Their charges, they
explained, about two hundred in number, were very impressionable, very
easily excited. A stranger in the chapel meant a sensation. Of course,
the lay workers of the institution and the old people from the Home
across the way sometimes came in, but they were so soberly dressed.
Perhaps if Miss Toland and Miss Page would dress in dark things, and
assure Good Mother that they would not speak to the girls--
"Oh, certainly!" Miss Toland had agreed eagerly. Julia, awed by the
airy, sombre interior of the great building, the closed doors, the
far-away echoes of footsteps and subdued voices, was a little pale.
"And this is your little assistant?" said Good Mother, suddenly, turning
a smile of angelic brightness upon Julia. "Well, come to mass by all
means, both of you. And pray for our poor children, dear child; we are
always in need of prayers."
"You must have extraordinary experiences here," Miss Toland said.
"And extraordinary compensations," said the nun. "Of course, some of our
poor children are very wild--at first. We do what we can. I had a little
pet of mine here until yesterday, Alice, ten years old; she is--"
"_Ten_!" ejaculated Miss Toland.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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