The sheep were moved back to their normal pasture and the Clearys were forced to learn the Outback habit of siesta. They rose at five， got everything done before midday， then collapsed in twitching， sweating heaps until five in the afternoon. This applied both to the women at the house and the men in the paddocks. Chores which could not be done early were done after five， and the evening meal eaten after the sun had gone down at a table outside on the veranda. All the beds had been moved outside as well for the heat persisted through the night. It seemed as if the mercury had not gone below a century in weeks， day or night. Beef was a forgotten memory， only a sheep small enough to last without tainting until it was all eaten. Their palates longed for a change from the eternal round of baked mutton chops， mutton stew， shepherd's pie made of minced mutton， curried mutton， roast leg of mutton， boiled pickled mutton， mutton casserole. But at the beginning of February life changed abruptly for Meggie and Stuart. They were sent to the convent in Gillanbone to board， for there was no school closer. Hal， said Paddy， could learn by correspondence from Blackfriars School in Sydney when he was old enough， but in the meantime， since Meggie and Stuart were used to teachers， Mary Carson had generously offered to pay for their board and tuition at the Holy Cross convent. Besides， Fee was too busy with Hal to supervise correspondence lessons as well. It had been tacitly understood from the beginning that Jack and Hughie would go no further with their educations； Drogheda needed them on the land， and the land was what they wanted.
Meggie and Stuart found it a strange， peaceful existence at Holy Cross after their life on Drogheda， but especially after the Sacred Heart in Wahine. Father Ralph had subtly indicated to the nuns that this pair of children were his protégés， their aunt the richest woman in New South Wales. So Meggie's shyness was transformed from a vice into a virtue， and Stuart's odd isolation， his habit of staring for hours into illimitable distances， earned him the epithet "saintly."
It was very peaceful indeed， for there were very few boarders； people of the district wealthy enough to send their offspring to boarding school invariably preferred Sydney. The convent smelled of polish and flowers， its dark high corridors awash with quietness and a tangible holiness. Voices were muted， life went on behind a black thin veil. No one caned them， no one shouted at them， and there was always Father Ralph. He came to see them often， and had them to stay at the presbytery so regularly he decided to paint the bedroom Meggie used a delicate apple green， buy new curtains for the windows and a new quilt for the bed. Stuart continued to sleep in a room which had been cream and brown through two redecorations； it simply never occurred to Father Ralph to wonder if Stuart was happy. He was the afterthought who to avoid offense must also be invited. Just why he was so fond of Meggie Father Ralph didn't know， nor for that matter did he spend much time wondering about it. It had begun with pity that day in the dusty station yard when he had noticed her lagging behind； set apart from the rest of her family by virtue of her sex， he had shrewdly guessed. As to why Frank also moved on an outer perimeter， this did not intrigue him at all， nor did he feel moved to pity Frank. There was something in Frank which killed tender emotions： a dark heart， a spirit lacking inner light. But Meggie？ She had moved him unbearably， and he didn't really know why. There was the color of her hair， which pleased him； the color and form of her eyes， like her mother's and therefore beautiful， but so much sweeter， more expressive； and her character， which he saw as the perfect female character， passive yet enormously strong. No rebel， Meggie； on the contrary. All her life she would obey， move within the boundaries of her female fate.