“Evelyn, dear, of what are you thinking?”

“Only of the fish, dear Mother.  You know they are quite deaf; fish haven’t ears.  There is a legend, however, of a boy playing the flute and the fish leaping to listen.”

“If her health doesn’t improve,” the Prioress said to herself, “we shall not be able to keep her.

“Evelyn, dear, you are not looking very well; I am afraid you haven’t been sleeping lately.”

“Last night I hardly closed my eyes, dear Mother, and to-day there is no reality anywhere.  One begins to hate everything—­the shapes of the trees, the colour of the sky.”

“It is just what I suspected,” the Prioress said to herself, “she was thinking of suicide.  Suicide in a convent—­such a thing has never happened.  Yet why shouldn’t such a thing happen?  Everything happens in this world.”

But, notwithstanding some alarming relapses, Evelyn’s health continued to improve, slowly, but it continued to improve; and after a long day’s work in the garden she would talk quite cheerfully, saying that that night for sure she would get some hours of sleep.  The Prioress listened, saying to herself, “There is no doubt that manual work is the real remedy, the only remedy.”  Sister Mary John was of the same opinion, and the Prioress relied on Sister Mary John to keep Evelyn hoeing and digging when it was fine, and making nets in the work-shop when it was wet.  She was encouraged to look after the different pets; and there were a good many to look after; her three cats occupied a good deal of her time, for the cats were always anxious to kill her tame birds.  One cat had killed several, so the question had arisen whether he should be drowned in the fishpond or trained to respect caged birds.  The way to do this, Evelyn had been told, was to put a caged bird on the ground in front of the cat, and, standing over him with a cane, strike swiftly and severely the moment the cat crouched to spring.  A cat above all other animals hates to be beaten, for a cat is probably one of the most sagacious animals, more even than a dog, though he does not care to show it.  The beating of the cat was repellent to Evelyn, but Sister Mary John had no such scruples, and the beatings proved so efficient that the cat would run away the moment he was shown a bird in a cage.  In turn each of the cats received its lesson, and henceforth Evelyn’s last presents—­ blackbirds, thrushes, linnets, and bull-finches—­lived in safety.

The feeding of these birds and the cleaning of the aviary occupied two hours a day during the winter.  She had also her greenhouse to attend to; herself and Sister Mary John, with some help from the outside, had built one, and hot-water pipes had been put in; and her love of flowers was so great that she would run down the garden even when the ground was covered with snow to stoke up the fire, if she thought she had forgotten to do so, saying that they would have no tulips, or lily of the valley, or azaleas for the