Who art thou, to send me to Paradise with a fillip of thine old finger-nail, yet to keep our excellent Sub-Prioress in Purgatory?
Shame upon thee, Mary Antony!" But the sternness of the Reverend Mother's tone was belied by the merriment in her grey eyes.
"So no more of that, my Antony; though, truth to tell, thy story gives me relief, answering a question I was meaning to put to thee.

I heard, not an hour ago, that Sister Antony had boasted that with a turn of her thumb and finger she could, any night, send Mother Sub-Prioress to Purgatory." "Who said that of me ?" stuttered Mary Antony.

"Who said it, Reverend Mother ?" "A little bird," murmured the Prioress.

"A little bird, dear Antony; but not thy pretty robin.

Also, the boast was taken to mean poison in the broth of Mother Sub-Prioress.