We pursued our way along the tow-path for a short distance, when the canal boat came along.  We asked permission to go upon the boat, and the captain kindly granted it, but desired us to be very still.  He carried us twelve miles, and then proposed to leave us, as he exposed himself to a heavy fine by carrying us without a pass, and unattended by a priest or Superior.  We begged him to take us as far as he went with the boat, and frankly told him our situation.  Having no money to offer, we could only cast ourselves on his mercy, and implore his pity and assistance.  He consented to take us as far as the village of Beauharnois, and there he left us.  He did not dare take us further, lest some one might be watching for us, and find us on his boat.

It was five o’clock in the morning when we left the boat, but it was a Roman Catholic village, and we did not dare to stop.  All that day we pursued our way without food or drink, and at night we were tired and hungry.  Arriving at a small village, we ventured to stop at the most respectable looking house, and asked the woman if she could keep us over night.  She looked at us very attentively and said she could not.  We did not dare to call again, for we knew that we were surrounded by those who would think they were doing a good work to deliver us up to the priests.  Darkness came over the earth, but still weary and sleepy as we were, we pursued our lonely way.  I will not repeat our bitter reflections upon a cold hearted world, but the reader will readily imagine what they were.

Late in the evening, we came to an old barn.  I think it must have been four or five miles from the village.  There was no house, or other building near it, and as no person was in sight, we ventured to enter.  Here, to our great joy, we found a quantity of clean straw, with which we soon prepared a comfortable bed, where we could enjoy the luxury of repose.  We slept quietly through the night, and at the early dawn awoke, refreshed and encouraged, but O, so hungry!  Gladly would we have eaten anything in the shape of food, but nothing could we find.

The morning star was yet shining brightly above us, as we again started on our journey.  At length our hearts were cheered by the sight of a village.  The first house we came to stood at some distance from the other buildings, and we saw two women in a yard milking cows.  We called at the door, and asked the lady for some milk.  “O yes,” said she, with a sweet smile, “come in, and rest awhile, and you shall have all you want.”  She thought we were Sisters of Charity, for they often go about visiting the sick, and praying with the people.  It is considered a very meritorious act to render them assistance, and speed them on their way; but to help a runaway nun is to commit a crime of sufficient magnitude to draw down the anathema of the church.  Therefore, while we carefully concealed our real character, we gratefully accepted the aid we so much needed,