Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/103

 tersely; but there was no proof of this unless her popularity with them. Now, as she stood at the door of the tiny room, her soft eyes had an unusually quizzical gleam. She had known by the dreary, recurrent thump she heard that some infant was in trouble, but had not suspected how deep the abyss of woe until she looked at the picture before her. Ernestine sat practising her dreary exercise. Unmindful of the protests of the yellow keys, she pounded away with dogged energy. Rebellious tears were on her fat cheeks, but her German braids flapped upon her back through the vigor of her efforts. Her plump legs were far too short to reach the floor, but from time to time they made abortive dives towards the pedals through some dim artistic purpose. On her feet were stout German boots, with several inches of heavy woollen stockings showing between them and the sombre frock above. A stiffly starched white pinafore lightened the effect, and the child's yellow hair, blue eyes, and fair Teutonic skin brought all the sunlight to a focus in the corner where she labored. Care weighed upon her brow, and while the nun looked the big tears dropped from her cheeks and splashed on the stained keys; but with unflinching courage Ernestine, aged seven, worked on. Something in her