THE KNIGHT OF THE BLOODY VEST "Nay, I have naught for thee this morning," said Mary Antony to the robin; "naught, that is, save spritely conversation.

I can tell thee a tale or two; I can give thee sage advice; but, in my wallet, little Master Mendicant, I have but my bag of peas." The old lay-sister sat resting in the garden.

She had had a busy hour, yet complicated in its busy-ness, for, starting out to do weeding, she had presently fancied herself intent upon making a posy, and now, sat upon the stone seat beneath the beech tree, holding a large nosegay made up of many kinds of flowering weeds, arranged with much care, and bound round with convolvulus tendrils.
Keen and uncommon shrewd though old Antony certainly was in many ways, her great age occasionally betrayed itself by childish vagaries.

Her mind would start off along the lines of a false premise, landing her eventually in a dream-like conclusion.

As now, when waking from a moment's nodding in the welcome shade, she wondered why her old back seemed well-nigh broken, and marvelled to find herself holding a big posy of dandelions, groundsel, plantain, and bindweed.
On the other end of the seat, stood the robin.