Christina, Though Young, Was Not Pretty, And She Was Always Either Crying Or Scolding, Which Would Of Course Spoil Any

Beauty; while at the same time she was either washing all the clothes belonging to the whole establishment of monks

(A very disagreeable business), or hanging them out to dry near the spring; or she was sweeping the monastery; or arranging the very dirty rooms of the establishment; or baking all the bread that was required; or cooking the dinner; or repairing all the old clothes which the monks wore when they were only fit for a paper-mill. As there was no special accommodation in the shape of a laundry, Christina had to collect sticks, and make a huge fire beneath a copper cauldron in the open air, into which she plunged all the different vestments of the monks and priests, and stewed them before washing. This was a Cyprian "maid of all work," whose gross ingratitude troubled the minds of her "pastors and masters;" and one day a peculiar mental disturbance pervaded the whole priestly establishment and caused a monasterial commotion, as, after a violent fit of temper attended by crying, Christina had declared solemnly that she "would stand it no longer," and "she wished TO BETTER HERSELF!"

Whenever there was a difficulty the monks came to me; why, I cannot imagine. If the shepherd's goats invaded their gardens and destroyed the onions and the beet-root crops, they applied to me. Of course I advised them to "fence their gardens," and they went away satisfied, but did not carry out the suggestion so in due time their crops were devoured. They now told me that THEY ALWAYS HAD DIFFICULTY WITH WOMEN! This new theory startled me almost as much as the novelty of the old monks' stories. They explained that YOUNG WOMEN WOULDN'T WORK, AND OLD WOMEN COULDN'T WORK. It had not occurred to them that a middle-aged woman might have combined all that they desired. Knowing their strict moral principles, I had suggested an "old woman" as the successor of Christina; as I explained to them that, to be in harmony with the establishment, a woman of a "certain age" as general servant would not detract from the religious character of the place. However I might argue, the old monk hesitated; but while the monk wavered, Christina's "monkey was up," and, taking her child in her arms, she started off without giving a "month's notice," and fairly left the monastery, with monks, priests, deacons, servants and the dogs all aghast and barking. There was nobody to wash the linen, to bake the bread, to sweep the rooms, to cook the dinner, to mend the clothes! Christina was gone, and the gentle sex was no longer represented in the monastery of Trooditissa.

I was sorry for Christina, but I was glad the child was gone; although I pitied the poor abandoned and neglected little creature with all my heart. As a rule, "maids of all work" should not be mothers, but if they are, they should endeavour to care for the unfortunate child. This wretched little thing was about two years old--a girl; its eyes were nearly closed with inflammation caused by dirt and neglect; it was naked, with the exception of a filthy rag that hung in tatters scarcely below its hips; and as its ill-tempered and over-worked mother alternately raved, or cried, the child, which even at this age depended mainly upon her nursing for its food, joined in a perpetual yell, which at length terminated in a faint and wearied moan, until it laid itself down upon the bare, hard stones, and fell asleep. It was a sad picture of neglect and misery; the shepherd's pretty children shunned it, and in its abandoned solitude the little creature had to amuse itself. The face looked like that of an old careworn person who had lost all pleasure in the world, and the child wandered about alone and uncared for; its only plaything was my good-tempered dog Wise, who allowed himself to be pulled about and teased in the most patient manner. I cured the child's eyes after some days' attention, and my wife had it washed, and made it decent clothes. This little unusual care, with a few kind words in a strange language only interpreted by a smile, attracted the poor thing to the tent, where it would sit for hours, until it at length found solace in the child's great refuge, sleep. It would always follow Lady Baker to and fro along the only level walk we had, from the tent to the running spring, and would sit down by her side directly she arrived at our favourite seat--a large flat rock looking down upon a precipitous descent to the ravine some 500 feet below, and commanding a view of the low country and the distant sea. It was an obstinate and perverse little creature, and it insisted upon climbing upon rocks and standing upon the extreme edge overhanging a precipice. If it had been the loved and only offspring of fond parents, heiress to a large estate, it would of course have tumbled over, in the absence of nurses and a throng of careful attendants, but never having been cared for since its birth, it possessed an instinctive knowledge of self-preservation, and declined to relieve its mother of an extra anxiety. It was an agreeable change to lose the sound of a child's constant wailing, and I suggested to the monks that its presence was hardly in accordance with the severe aspect of the establishment. There was some mystery connected with it of which I am still ignorant, as I never ask questions; but it is at the least ill-judged and thoughtless on the part of "maids of all work" to engage themselves to any situation where the kissing of a rock, or a holy effigy, may lead to complications. It was of no use to moralise; Christina was gone, together with the child; there was absolute quiet in the monastery; neither the scolding of the mother, nor the crying of an infant, was heard.

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