“But I do not know whether a lily should be in this corner by the blessed Mary,” said Sister Josia, “or if the ass should stand here.”
“The lily, by all means,” said Sister Gaillarde. “Prithee paint not an ass: there’s too many in this world already.”
“I do wish Father Mortimer would attend to his own business!” cried Sister Ada, “or that we had old Father Hamon back again. I do hate these new officers: they always find fault with every thing.”
“Ay, new brooms be apt to sweep a bit too clean,” replied Sister Gaillarde. “Mary love us, but I would we had a new broom! I don’t believe there are twenty bristles left of the old one.”
Joan looked up from her griffin’s tail to laugh.
“Well, what is to be done?”
“Oh, I suppose we must do as we are bid,” saith Sister Ada in a mournful voice. “But, dear heart, to think of it!”
“How many pails have you, Sister Ada?”
“There’s the large bouget, and the little one. The middle-sized one is broken, but it will hold some water.”
“Two and a half, then,” answered Sister Gaillarde. “Well, fetch them, Sister, and I will go and see to the mops. I think we have a mop left. Perhaps, now, if we din our needs well into my Lady’s ears, we may get one or two more. But, sweet Saint Felicitas! is there any soap?”