A few minutes later, I started off, pushing Robert in his pram. He sat back placidly against his pillow and stared at me. The nun’s parcel made a comfortable prop for his feet. He was very pink and cheerful. My mother had dressed him in a suit of pale blue wool that she had knitted herself and that fitted him very tightly all over and left his fat legs bare. He wore short white cotton socks and brown sandals. His hair, of which he did not have much, was brushed into a golden crest on top of his head, and he shone with health, contentment, and cleanliness. I was in a great hurry to get him into the barrel, and I sped along, almost skating behind the pram.

When I got to the convent, I rushed into the waiting room and told Sister Bridget I had brought Robert to see her. She was delighted and said she would call the other nuns. I didn’t know, and didn’t like to ask, whether she meant that she would call all the nuns or just a few of them. I imagined them, silent and swift, of all ages, descending upon Robert from every part of the convent. I hoped none of them would be in the chapel, because surely they would never be allowed to interrupt their prayers.

I went back to the hall and lifted Robert into the barrel, making sure he had his back against the wall. He sat very solidly where I placed him, a good deal larger than the parcels I was in the habit of bringing. As soon as I heard Sister Bridget’s voice, I revolved him out of sight. He didn’t seem to mind disappearing. There was silence on the other side of the barrel. I couldn’t hear a rustle — not even the suspicion of a whisper. Even Robert made no sound. I stared at the blank side of the barrel and wondered what was going on on the other side.

After a minute or two, the barrel began to move, and Robert gradually came into view, sitting exactly as I had placed him, looking very matter-of-fact and friendly. I lifted him out and put the parcel on the warmed-up spot where he had been sitting. When the barrel came back the second time, Sister Bridget had sent us more presents than usual. There were extra holy pictures and extra medals and a special present for Robert, a holy picture sewn by some nun to a square of white satin and embroidered with white-satin thread. I went back into the conversation room and received Sister Bridget’s compliments about Robert and acknowledged the hopes she expressed for him, which I took to be blessings, considering their source. Then I heard a few words, perfunctory this time, about my vocation, and left.