"I hope you don't have bad dreams," said the nun, affrighted.
"Oh, I dream—what do I not dream? Sometimes I fly—oh, so high, and all the people look up at me, they marvel. But I laugh and kiss my hand to them down there."
"Well, there's no harm in flying," said the nun. "The angels fly."
"Oh, but I am not always an angel in my dreams. Is it God who sends these bad dreams, too?"
"No—that is the devil."
"Then it is sometimes he who puts the extinguisher on?"
"That is when you have not said your prayers properly."
Eileen opened wide eyes of protest. "Oh, but, dear mother, I always say my prayers properly."
"You think so? That is already a sin in you—the sin of spiritual pride."
"But, ma mere, devil-dreams or angel-dreams—it is always the same in the morning. Every morning one finds oneself ready on the pillow, like a clock that has been wound up. One did not make the works."