Without thinking, I slipped out the kitchen door and began to run. I didn't know where I was going, I just wanted to be by myself.

The grass was wet. It was still early and the morning dew hadn't had a chance to dry in the sun. My feet were getting soaked, but I barely noticed.

I ran up the slope behind the convent, past the hedges and the large square of earth that had been plowed for that year's vegetable garden. I ran past the apple orchard, where the trees were just beginning to bud with little bursts of green.

My breath began to come in gasps but I kept running, right through a stand of tall evergreen trees until I came to a clearing on the other side. At first I was too winded to cry. All I wanted to do was rest. I flung myself to the ground and found myself staring up at a big fat cloud that had just drifted over my head. Then, strangely, I no longer felt like crying at all. I was very calm, though I still felt lonely. I couldn't bear the thought of going back to that big house, which now didn't seem beautiful at all.

After the cloud passed, I sat up and for the first time since I had run out of the house really noticed my surroundings. I was here--in this clearing, which was surrounded by grand trees, just as it is now. It seemed very cozy to me, like a private nook just for me. Except for the sound of birds cawing and tittering, I was alone.

And yet I felt as though someone was watching me. I looked all over but didn't see anyone. Then my eye caught sight of something on the other side of the clearing--something small. I walked over and couldn't help but laugh.

Can you guess what it was?

It was a perfect little tree, a miniature version of the huge evergreens standing at the edge of the clearing. It was just about my size!

"Oh, you are so beautiful," I said, right out loud. "Can I touch you?"

I couldn't say for certain, but it seemed to me as though the tree's branches rippled ever so slightly.

Though I knew how scary strangers could be, I couldn't resist. Very carefully I reached out and patted the little tree's needles. I interpreted the fact that they were ticklish to my touch as a sign of friendliness.

Then without thinking about it I began to tell the tree things I had told no one else. How much I missed my mother and father. About Sister Lucia and Sister Frances and about how lonely I felt.

I talked for quite awhile. And when I stopped I sat down next to the tree. We stayed together contentedly, warming ourselves in the sun--and somehow I felt much better.