business and part of their religion to
go out, and why they should not be willing to come here and do good, as
well as anywhere else, I cannot see, for the life of me."

"Then they objected to the proposition?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied, "they did, and without any reason whatever. I saw
their superior, whom they call Mother Anastasia, and from her I learned
that there were several women in the establishment who were thoroughly
competent to act as secretaries; but when I proposed that one of them
should come and write for you, she said that would not do at all. I
reasoned the matter with her: that literature was as high a profession
as medicine, and as much good could be done with the practice of one as
the other; and if the sisters went out to nurse and to cure, they might
just as well go out to write for those who cannot write for themselves.
To that she answered, it was not the writing she objected to,--that was
all well enough,--but it was decidedly outside of the vocation of the
order for one of the sisters to spend her mornings with a young
gentleman. If he were sick and suffering, and had no one else to attend
to him, it would be different. Upon this, I told her that you would be
sick if you were obliged to do your own writing, and therefore I
couldn't see the difference.

"But I must admit she was very good-natured and pleasant about it, and
she told me that if you chose to come to their visitors' room and make
yourself comfortable there, and dictate, one of the sisters would sit at
the table behind the grating and would write for you. I replied that I
did not believe you would like that, but that I would mention it to
you."

I laughed. "So much for Walkirk's brilliant idea," I said. "I fancy
myself going every morning to that nunnery to do my work in their
cheerless visitors' room!"

"Cheerless? I should say so!" exclaimed my grandmother,--"bare floors,
bare walls, and hard wooden chairs. It is not to be thought of."

That evening I informed Walkirk of the ill success of my grandmother's
mission, but to my surprise he did not appear to be discouraged.

"I don't think we need have any trouble at all in managing that affair,"
said he. "Why shouldn't you have a grating put up in the doorway between
your study and the secretary's room? Then the sister could go in there,
the other door could be locked, and she would be as much shut off from
the world as if she were behind a grating in the House of Martha. I