I went up to see Winifred next day, and, in the light of my new discoveries, to talk with her over past, present, and future. She came into the dimly-lighted convent parlor with something of her former brightness. Her little figure was particularly graceful and symmetrical in the somber black of the costume. An attempt had been made to brush her curls as smooth as the regulations required, but they still broke out mutinously; her eyes shone; while her complexion, though paler than before, was clear and healthful. All present in the parlor--for it was visiting-day--turned to look at her, and I heard more than one whispered inquiry concerning her in the groups that sat around.
I inquired first about her school-life--her lessons and all those little details of convent life familiar to girls who have ever been at boarding-school.
"I am singing in the choir now," she told me; "and I like that very much. Did you ever sing in a choir when you were little?"
"No," I answered; "for the best of all reasons, that I had no voice."
"Well, we practise a great deal," she went on; "and that is always nice. I think my voice sounded best on the hills. Do you remember when I used to sit on the tree over the Dargle? Well I could raise my voice very high then."
"I remember well," I replied; "and those old ballads you sang suited your voice. But I am glad you are getting interested in the choir and in your singing lessons."
"Yes, and some of my other lessons I like very much. And, then, we are to have a play, in which I am to take the part of an Indian."
"You ought to do that well," I remarked, "because you have lived so much in the open air."
I thought as I spoke that she had indeed the free, wild grace of movement peculiar to the children of Nature.
"That's what Sister said when she gave me the part," Winifred assented. "It is great fun being an Indian. I have to wear feathers on my head and some paint on my face, and a beaded skirt and a blanket embroidered with quills and things. Wouldn't Barney and Moira stare if they saw me!"
And she laughed at the picture she conjured up of their amazement.
"Granny Meehan would stare too, were it possible for her to see you," I observed; "though that she could not do even if you stood before her."