For those who know how to find it, there is good in everything.  Sister Frances used to take her seat on the steps, sometimes with her work and sometimes with a book; and Victoire, tired of being quite idle, listened with eagerness to the stories which Sister Frances read, or watched with interest the progress of her work; soon she longed to imitate what she saw done with so much pleasure, and begged to be taught to work and read.  By degrees she learned her alphabet, and could soon, to the amazement of her schoolfellows, read the names of all the animals in Sister Frances’ picture-book.  No matter how trifling the thing done, or the knowledge acquired, a great point is gained by giving the desire for employment.  Children frequently become industrious from impatience of the pains and penalties of idleness.  Count Rumford showed that he understood childish nature perfectly well when, in his House of Industry at Munich, he compelled the young children to sit for some time idle in a gallery round the hall, where others a little older than themselves were busied at work.  During Victoire’s state of idle convalescence she acquired the desire to be employed, and she consequently soon became more industrious than her neighbours.  Succeeding in her first efforts, she was praised—­was pleased, and persevered till she became an example of activity to her companions.  But Victoire, though now nearly seven years old, was not quite perfect.  Naturally, or accidentally, she was very passionate, and not a little self-willed.

One day being mounted, horsemanlike, with whip in hand, upon the banister of the flight of stairs leading from the schoolroom to the garden, she called in a tone of triumph to her playfellows, desiring them to stand out of the way, and see her slide from top to bottom.  At this moment Sister Frances came to the schoolroom door and forbade the feat; but Victoire, regardless of all prohibition, slid down instantly, and moreover was going to repeat the glorious operation, when Sister Frances, catching hold of her arm, pointed to a heap of sharp stones that lay on the ground upon the other side of the banisters.

“I am not afraid,” said Victoire.

“But if you fall there, you may break your arm again.”

“And if I do, I can bear it,” said Victoire.  “Let me go, pray let me go:  I must do it.”

“No; I forbid you, Victoire, to slide down again.  Babet and all the little ones would follow your example, and perhaps break their necks.”

The nun, as she spoke, attempted to compel Victoire to dismount; but she was so much of a heroine, that she would do nothing upon compulsion.  Clinging fast to the banisters, she resisted with all her might; she kicked and screamed, and screamed and kicked, but at last her feet were taken prisoners; then grasping the railway with one hand, with the other she brandished high the little whip.

“What!” said the mild nun, “would you strike me with that arm?”