“We should not waste thoughts on him, all our thoughts should be for God; there is much more pleasure and profit in such thoughts.”

“But it does seem a little absurd to imagine that the devil is hiding behind gooseberry bushes.”

“The devil is everywhere, temptation is always near.”

Evelyn saw that the nun did not care for discussion on the subject of the devil’s objectivity, and in the pause in the conversation she noticed Sister Mary John’s enormous boots.  They looked like a man’s boots, and she had a full view of them, for Sister Mary John wore her skirt very short, so that she might be able to dig with greater ease.

“One of the disadvantages of convent life are the few facilities it affords for exercise and for music,” she added, with her beautiful smile.  “I must have exercise, I can’t live without it....  It is extraordinary how differently people are constituted.  There is Mother Mary Hilda, she had never been for what I should call a good sharp walk in her life, and she does not know what an ache or a pain is.”

The nun pointed with admiration to the bed which she had dug up that morning, and complained of the laziness of the gardener:  he had not done this nor that, but he was such a good man—­since he became a Catholic.

“He and I used to talk about things while we were at work:  he said that he had never had it properly explained to him that there should only be one true religion.

“Since he became a Catholic, has he not done as much work as he used to do?”

“No, I’m afraid he has not,” Sister Mary John answered.  “Indeed, we have been thinking of sending him away, but it would be difficult for him to get another Catholic situation, and his faith would be endangered if he lived among Protestants.”

At this moment they were interrupted by a loud caw, and looking round, Evelyn saw the convent jackdaw.  The bird had hopped within a few yards, cawing all the while, evidently desirous of attracting their attention.  With grey head a-slanted, the bird watched them out of sly eyes.  “Pay no attention to him; you’ll see what he’ll do,” said Sister Mary John, and while Evelyn waited, a little afraid of the bird who seemingly had selected her for some purpose of his own, she listened to the story of his domestication.  He had been hatched out in the hen-house, and had tamed himself; he had declined to go wild, preferring a sage convent life to the irregularity of the world.  The bird hopped about, feigning an interest in the worms, but getting gradually nearer the two women.  At last, with a triumphant caw caw, he flew on to Sister Mary John’s shoulder, eyeing Evelyn all the while, clearly bent on making her acquaintance.

“He’ll come on your shoulder presently,” said Sister Mary John, and after some plausive coquetting the bird fluttered on to Evelyn’s shoulder, and Sister Mary John said—­

“You wait; you’ll see what he will do.”