I was then placed in a Roman Catholic family, where he often visited, and ever appeared to feel for me the most devoted attachment.  One day he came to see me in a state of partial intoxication.  I did not then know why his face was so red, and his breath so offensive, but I now know that he was under the influence of ardent spirits.  The woman with whom I boarded seeing his condition, and being a good Catholic, resolved to make the most of the occasion for the benefit of the nunnery.  She therefore said to him, “You are not capable of bringing up that child; why don’t you give her to Priest Dow?”—­“Will he take her?” asked my father.  “Yes,” she replied, “he will put her into the nunnery, and the nuns will take better care of her than you can.”  “On what condition will they take her?” he asked.  “Give the priest one hundred dollars,” replied the artful woman, “and he will take good care of her as long as she lives.”

This seemed a very plausible story; but I am sure my father did not realize what he was doing.  Had he waited for a little reflection, he would never have consented to such an arrangement, and my fate would have been quite different.  But as it was, he immediately sent for the priest, and gave me to him, to be provided for, as his own child, until I was of age.  I was then to be allowed to go out into the world if I chose.  To this, Priest Dow consented, in consideration of one hundred dollars, which he received, together with a good bed and bedding.  My mother’s gold ear-rings were also entrusted to his care, until I should be old enough to wear them.  But I never saw them again.  Though I was at that time but six years old, I remember perfectly, all that passed upon that memorable occasion.  I did not then comprehend the full meaning of what was said, but I understood enough to fill my heart with sorrow and apprehension.

When their bargain was completed, Priest Dow called me to him, saying, with a smile, “You are a stubborn little girl, I guess, a little naughty, sometimes, are you not?” Surprised and alarmed, I replied, “No, sir.”  He then took hold of my hair, which was rather short, drew it back from my forehead with a force that brought the tears to my eyes, and pressing his hand heavily on my head, he again asked if I was not sometimes a little wilful and disobedient.  I was so much frightened at this, I turned to my father, and with tears and sobs entreated him not to send me away with that man, but allow me to stay at home with him.  He drew me to his bosom, wiped away my tears, and sought to quiet my fears by assuring me that I would have a good and pleasant home; that the nuns would take better care of me than he could; and that he would often come to see me.  Thus, by the aid of flattery on one side, and sugarplums on the other, they persuaded me at last to accompany the priest to the White Nunnery, St. Paul’s street, Quebec.