“He tore it off—­I mean the devil took it off.  I can’t catch him.  If you’d try?—­if you’d get between him and that bush.  It is a pity to see a good cat go to the devil because we can’t get a bit of blue ribbon on his neck.”

Evelyn stood between the cat and the bush, and creeping near, caught him by the neck, and held him by the forepaws while Miss Dingle tried to tie the ribbon round his neck; but Jack struggled, and raising one of his hind paws obliged Evelyn to loose him.

“There is no use trying; he won’t let it be put on his neck.”

“But what will become of him?  He will get more and more savage.”  Miss Dingle ran after the cat, who put up his tail and trotted away, eluding her.  She came back, telling Evelyn that she might see the devil if she wished.  “That is to say, if you are not afraid.  He’s in that corner, and I don’t like to go there.  I have hunted him out of these bushes—­you need not be afraid, my rosary has been over them all.”

Evelyn could see that Miss Dingle wished her to exorcise the dangerous corner, and she offered to do so.

“You have two rosaries, you might lend me one.”

“No, I don’t think I could.  I want two, one for each hand, you see....  I have not seen you in the garden this last day or two.  You’ve been away, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been in Rome.”

“In Rome!  Then why don’t you go and hunt him out... frighten him away?  You don’t need a rosary if you have touched the precious relics.  You should be able to drive him out of the garden, and out of the park too, though the park is a big place.  But here comes Sister Mary John.  You will tell me another time if you’ve brought back anything that the Pope has worn.”

Sister Mary John came striding over the broken earth, followed by her jackdaw.  The bird stopped to pick up a fat worm, and the nun sent Miss Dingle away very summarily.

“I can’t have you here, Alice.  Go to the summer-house and worry the devil away with your holy pictures.  I’ve no time for you, dear,” she said to the jackdaw, who had alighted on her shoulder; “and I have been looking for you everywhere,” she said, turning from her bird to Evelyn.  “You promised me—­But I suppose digging tired you?”

“No, it was not that, Sister, only the sun came out and the warmth was so delicious; I am afraid I am easily beguiled.”

“We are all easily beguiled,” Sister Mary John answered somewhat sharply.  “Now we must try to get on with our digging.  You can help me a little with it, can’t you?” And looking up and down a plot about ten yards long and twenty feet wide, protected by a yew-hedge, she said, “This is the rhubarb-bed.  And this piece,” she said, walking to another plot between the yew-hedge and the gooseberry bushes, “will have to be dug up.  We were short of vegetables last year.”

“You speak very lightly, Sister, of so much digging.  Do you never get tired?” So that she might not lose heart altogether, Sister Mary John told her one of these beds had been dug up in autumn, and that no more would be required than the hoeing out of the weeds.