As Told by May Iverson
bad for us all, but Sister Chrysostom never lost her head, nor her cool, calm manner. She had a lovely face and sang like an angel, and looked as if she had had a past. So we girls all adored her and raved over her and didn't mind when she snubbed us, which she did most of the time. There was nothing sentimental about Sister Chrysostom, but there was something very interesting, and I used to look at her and wish I knew what it was. Perhaps that is why I found out.
You know how the "Day School side" of the convent is arranged. When you pass the big double doors that open from the street, you find yourself in a square entrance hall, with a small reception-room at the right and a flight of stairs at the left, leading down to the kindergarten. Directly in front of you are two more swinging doors, and when you have passed those you find yourself in a long corridor, with rows of doors on the right and left. These doors, you remember, all lead into small music-rooms, and in each room a girl is practising on the piano. The din is some thing dreadful, of course, for each is playing a different thing, and most of them haven't half learned it.
During rehearsal weeks it was Sister Chrysostom's duty to go up and down this long cor-
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