“There’s a great letter up at the convent,” he said, when he came up beside them.  “The Sisters have got it, and they will show it to you.  Ask them to read it to you.  That letter will have a place in Kentucky history.  This is where we must turn out.  No, Toby, old man, there’s no time for you to be listening and enjoying yourself, nor for nibbling pea-vine, either.  Move on, move on!  Good-by, my children.  Don’t forget to ask the Sisters to show you the bishop’s letter.”

Sister Teresa held it in her hand when she came to the door to meet them.  Both the girl and the boy had been her pupils, and she had formed an attachment for them which had not been weakened by their leaving the little school.  Sister Elizabeth also hastened to receive them most cordially.  Sister Angela merely waved her hand through the window, but the little faces peeping over the sill, and the tops of the little curly heads bobbing up and down at her side, told why she could not come with the others to meet the welcome guests.  Sister Teresa did not wait to be asked to read the letter, she was too much excited over it to forget it for a moment; its coming was the greatest event that the convent had ever known.

“This, my dear children,” she began almost as soon as they were within hearing, “is a letter from Bishop Flaget, the first bishop of Kentucky, the first bishop of the whole northwest.  Of course you must know, my dears, that this is far too important a letter to have been written to an humble little community like ours, or even to Father Orin, much as he is esteemed.  This is merely a copy of the letter which Bishop Flaget is sending back to France, and the original was addressed to the French Association for the Propagation of the Faith.  It was written in June of this year, soon after the arrival of his Reverence in Kentucky, but our copy has reached us only to-day.  Listen!  This is what he says about his coming to Bardstown:  ’It was on the 9th of June, 1811, that I made my entry into this little village, accompanied by two priests, and three young students for the ecclesiastical state.  Not only had I not a cent in my purse, but I was compelled to borrow nearly two thousand francs in order to reach my destination.  Thus, without money, without a house, without property, almost without acquaintances, I found myself in the midst of a diocese, two or three times larger than all France, containing five large states and two immense territories, and myself speaking the language, too, very imperfectly.  Add to this that almost all the Catholics were emigrants, but newly settled and poorly furnished.’  Ah, but he was welcomed with all our hearts!” cried Sister Teresa, with tears springing to her gentle eyes.  “Listen to this, from another letter, telling how he came to St. Stephen’s.  It is like a beautiful painting—­you can see how it looked!  ’The bishop there found the faithful kneeling on the grass, and singing canticles in English:  the country women were nearly all