n glowed against the fuchsia
hedge; a white flower stood out in almost startling distinctness.
Above the pear-tree the sky was clear, cold green; a flush of red
mounted from the south-west. The garden, shut in by the convent wall
and high hedge, seemed to Fly like a box without a lid at the bottom of
a deep well of clear sky.

She sniffed the cold air. Her happiness had gone from her, but she had
been mercifully delivered from her trouble. Suddenly a hand gripped
her. Her godmother pointed with the spiked finger of a black kid glove
to Honeybird's garden. It was a bare patch--nothing grew there--for
what Honeybird planted one day she dug up the next. To-day Honeybird
evidently had made a new bed-centre, and bordered it with cockle
shells. Fly's knees shook under her. In the middle of that bed,
coming up through the newly-turned earth, with a ring of cockle shells
round its neck, was the head of a big yellow cat. It was here
Honeybird had buried her husband--buried him, unfortunately, as she
always buried birds, with his head out, in case he felt lonely in the
dark. Miss Black was down on her knees, clearing the earth away. Fly
never thought of escape. She felt as though she were tied to the path.
She stood there while her godmother lifted the dead cat in her arms and
tenderly brushed the earth from its fur. Then the little lady turned
round. "Now she'll kill me," Fly thought. She lifted her terrified
eyes to Miss Black's face. How would she do it, she wondered. But her
godmother never seemed to notice her. Without a word she turned, and
walked quickly from the garden. A moment later Fly heard the gate
shut. She was too bewildered to move. The sound of wheels going down
the avenue roused her to the fact that her godmother had gone. She had
been found out, and no awful punishment had followed, but to her
surprise there was no relief in this. Fly felt as miserable as ever.
She looked up at the sky. A star showed above the pear-tree. She had
not meant to do anything wrong, but she had hurt somebody terribly.
Whose fault was it? Almighty God's or her own? The donkey carriage
was going slowly up the road; she could hear the whacking of a stick
and the driver's "gone a' that." Suddenly through the frosty air her
ear caught the sound of bitter weeping. Then Fly turned, and ran from
the garden, dashing wildly through Patsy's flower-bed in her haste to
get away from that heart-breaking sound.