Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1888-04-09


but how much more to Sister St.John,
"my sister, as the child was wont
to fondly term her, through her gray
sisterhood habit, and the crust of
long years of self repression, the
warm, clinging fingers thrilled the
motherliness latent in every woman's
heart, and opened to her view cares
and joys sweeter, more vivid, than
she had dreamed earth could hold
she humored Names whims, submit
ted to her small eXactions, let her
! play with her rosary, was kissed and
coaxed into compliance dozen times
a day. spent hours over intricate en-
| broideries (once task, now delight)
! for her dainty garments.
1t was Names third year at st.
Vincent's, the day before Easter had
come, and Sister st. John prepared
to trim the chapel for Easter service.
The day had fal EN- unusually late in
the season, crocus, hyacinths and the
early spring flowers were blooming in
their bed outside, and the cherry and
peach trees in the deep back yard of
the hospital were yelled in white and
rosy blossom clouds. But Sister St.
John proceeded to bring out and open
sundry boxes of white paper, lilies,
and roses. 80, what bu full flowers,
cried Name, who had followed, an
interested observer; she lifted a
bunch to her face, to exclaim in dis
appointment ''Why, Sister, they
don't 'mell Patrick's flowers 'melI
lovily." A moment later she ran out,
but soon returned, her apron heaped
and overfowing with branches of
cherry blossoms she had begged of
Patrick, the gardener.
"See, my sister, she cried trium-
pHantly, 81 have brought you prettier
flowers; just 'mell them" Sister
ST. John looked up from the altar
she was beginning to trim. eyes,
they are very pretty; but these are
the flowers, dear that we always use."
"And won't you take mine?" The
eyes filled with tears, the bright face
clouded. Sister St. John hesitated; ;
the paper lilies and roses had been
gift to the chapel, and were held in
high admiration by the sisters their
merit as works of art equal, if not SUI
perior to nature, she had never ques-
toned, nor did she now but Names
tears were a stronger influence, and
she fastened to say: "Don't cry,pet,
| will use yours too" rejecting that
she could arrange them so they would |
not show. At that moment she was
summoned away. When she return
ed, after lengthy absence, Names |
clear voice was singing, "Jesus loves
me, wonderful sings in the Book l |
see," for the child's religious training
was decidedly broad, including the
aves the sister had taught her, and
Moody and Sankey hymns she had
caught from the patients. "See, sis
ter, see p she exclaimed, jumping
down from the chair on which she |
was standing. sis it not beau'fu ?" |
Beautiful it was, indeed; she had |
fairly wreathed the altar, and the |
plaster Christ, that formed its cen |
tral figure, looked out of perfect |
bower of pink and white bloom but
Sister st. John, appalled, at the in
novation, sat down, uncertain how to
act, an opportunity the little one
seized to begin one of those series of
questions the childish heart so de-
lights in.
"What is Easter, Sister,"
"The day Christ rose from the
dead"
"Was He dead and put in the
ground like Sister Baptista?"
Eyes"
"And will Sister Baptista rise to-
morrow
"Not tomorrow, but she will some
day."
"Carrie Field says Christ used to
cure sick people; if he were here,
would he cure all those sick here?"
"Perhaps So"
"And Carrie says he used to take
children up and carry them, like the
picture in the children's ward. He
loves little girls if they are good;
does he love grown people, too, if
they are good?"
eyes"
care you good? does He love
you?"
"Oh, Name, what questions you
do ask y cried the poor sister, ,aghast
at the interrogation points raised.
The child was quiet for a moment,
and when she spoke it was in chang
ed tone.
''Sister, take me in; I'm tired
my froat aches"
With thrill of terror, Sister St.
John caught the child in her arms,
and, experienced nurse as she was,
read in the suddenly flushed face and
heavy eyes the signs of swift-coming
danger; but what does knowledge or
skill avail in the hour of doom? Thro'
that day and night loving hands work
ed with tireless energy; physicians,
learned and renowned, came and
went at the bedside of their little fa-
vorite, and with moist eyes confessed
themselves powerless before the
dread disease. Easter morning
dawned, and bells chimed, and