er, a minute writing-case, and, for
decorations, there were dainty and delicate water-colours.
Half-a-dozen books lay about, a novel or two of the best kind, and two
or three volumes of poems.

"You wish to become a nurse?" said Miss Dashwood.

"Yes."

"I am afraid you hardly know what it is, and that when you do know you
will find it very disagreeable. So many young women come here with
entirely false notions as to their duties."

Miriam was silent; Miss Dashwood's manner depressed her.

"However, you can try. You will have to begin at the very bottom. I
always insist on this with my probationers. It teaches them how the
work ought to be done, and, in addition, proper habits of
subordination. For three months you will have to scrub the floors and
assist in keeping the wards in order."

Miriam had imagined that she would at once be asked to watch over
grateful patients, to give them medicine, and read to them. However,
she was determined to go through with her project, and she assented.
The next morning saw her in coarse clothes, busy with a pail and soap
and water. It was very hard. She was not a Catholic novice; she was
not penetrated with the great religious idea that, done in the service
of the Master, all work is alike in dignity; she had, in fact, no
religion whatever, and she was confronted with a trial severe even to
an enthusiast received into a nunnery with all the pomp of a gorgeous
ritual and sustained by the faith of ages.

Specially troublesome was her new employment to Miriam, because she was
by nature so unmethodical and careless. Perhaps there are no habits so
hard to overcome as those of general looseness and want of system.
They are often associated with abundance of energy. The corners are
not shirked through fatigue, but there is an unaccountable persistency
in avoiding them, which resolution and preaching are alike unable to
conquer. The root of the inconsistency is a desire speedily to achieve
results. To keep this desire in subjection, to shut the eyes to
results, but patiently to remove the dust to the last atom of it lying
in the dark angle, is a good part of self-culture.

In a hospital Miriam's defect was one of the deadly sins, and many were
the admonitions which she received from Miss Dashwood. One evening,
after a day in which they had been more frequent than usual, she went
to bed, but lay awake. She was obliged to confess to herself that the
light of three months