A tall Calvary lowered incongruously over one.

An inferior Madonna, deposed from her old station in the entrance-hall, presided in a weather-beaten blue robe over another.
Beyond the garden, blocked off from it by a white wall, lay the factory itself, the magnet which was drawing the great of the earth to the nunnery.

Here were the workers, all of them bright young women, smiling pleasantly and well washed for the occasion.

They were dressed in neat violet petticoats and white blouses, with shawls thrown back from their heads, a glorified presentment of the Mayo woman's working dress.

Here and there, a touch of realism creditable to the Reverend Mother's talent for stage management, one sat in bare feet--not, of course, dust or mud stained, as bare feet are apt to be in Connaught, but clean.