e inclination to do so that there was something like violence in the
effort. When her eyes met the gaze of Sister Benigna the warm blood
rushed to her cheeks, and she looked quickly down again. Did Sister
Benigna know yet about the letter Mr. Wenck had written?

A sad smile appeared on Benigna's face. She shook her head. If she did
not know what had happened, she no doubt understood that some kind of
trouble had entered the house.

Drawing a roll of needlework from her pocket, she quietly occupied
herself with it until Elise, unable to endure the silence longer,
said, "Oh, Sister Benigna, is it not time we did something about the
Sisters' House? I have been reading about one: I forget where it is.
What a beautiful Home you and I could make for poor people, and sick
girls not able to work, and old women! We ought to have such a Home in
Spenersberg. I have been thinking all day it is what we must have, and
it is time we set about it."

"I do not agree with you," was the quiet answer. "There is no real
need for it here, and perhaps there never will be. Work that is so
unnecessary might better be avoided. In Spenersberg it is better that
the poor and the old and the sick should be cared for in their homes,
by their own households: there is no want here."

"Will you read what I have been reading?" said Elise, hesitating, not
willing yet to give up the project which looked so full of promise.

"I know all about Sisters' Houses, and they are excellent
institutions, but if you will go from house to house here you will
find that you would probably keep house by yourself a long time if you
opened such an establishment. No, no: you have your work all prepared
for you, and I certainly have mine. There is a good deal to be done
yet for the festival. Tomorrow, after five, come to the school-room and
we will practice a while. And we might do something here to-night. The
children surprise me: I seem to be surrounded by a little company of
angels while they sing."

"Oh, Sister Benigna," exclaimed Elise throwing down her work in
despair, "I don't in the least care about the festival. I should be
glad to know it was all given up. I cannot sing at it. I think I have
lost my voice: I do, indeed. I tried it this afternoon, and I croaked
worse than anything you ever heard."

"Croaked? We must see to that," said Sister Benigna; but, though her
voice was so cheerful, she closed her eyes as she spoke, and passed
her hands over them, and