g
oranges and lemons, and filling the basket which her grandmother was to
take to the town. The silver ripple of a hymn that she was singing came
through the open door; it was part of a sacred ballad in honor of Saint
Agnes:--

"Bring me no pearls to bind my hair,
No sparkling jewels bring to me!
Dearer by far the blood-red rose
That speaks of Him who died for me.

"Ah! vanish every earthly love,
All earthly dreams forgotten be!
My heart is gone beyond the stars,
To live with Him who died for me."

"Hear you now, sister," said the monk, "how the Lord keeps the door of
this maiden's heart? There is no fear of her; and I much doubt, sister,
whether you would do well to interfere with the evident call this child
hath to devote herself wholly to the Lord."

"Oh, you talk, brother Antonio, who never had a child in your life,
and don't know how a mother's heart warms towards her children and her
children's children! The saints, as I said, must be reasonable, and
oughtn't to be putting vocations into the head of an old woman's only
staff and stay; and if they oughtn't to, why, then, they won't. Agnes is
a pious child, and loves her prayers and hymns; and so she will love her
husband, one of these days, as an honest woman should."

"But you know, sister, that the highest seats in Paradise are reserved
for the virgins who follow the Lamb."

"Maybe so," said Elsie, stiffly; "but the lower seats are good enough
for Agnes and me. For my part, I would rather have a little comfort as I
go along, and put up with less in Paradise, (may our dear Lady bring us
safely there!) say I."

So saying, Elsie raised the large, square basket of golden fruit to
her head, and turned her stately figure towards the scene of her daily
labors.

The monk seated himself on the garden-wall, with his portfolio by his
side, and seemed busily sketching and retouching some of his ideas.
Agnes wound some silvery-white flax round her distaff, and seated
herself near him under an orange-tree; and while her small fingers were
twisting the flax, her large, thoughtful eyes were wandering off on the
deep blue sea, pondering over and over the strange events of the day
before, and the dreams of the night.

"Dear child," said the monk, "have you thought more of what I said to
you?"

A deep blush suffused her cheek as she answered,--

"Yes, uncle; and I had a strange dream last night."

"A dream, my little heart? Come, then, and tell it