then an old nun, looking across, would cry out —
"Ah! tu casses la silence." (Ah! you've broken silence.)
And thus we soon got a-laughing beyond our power of supporting it. At recreation that day, the first question asked by many of us was, "How did you like your cider?"
Jane Kay never had a fixed place to sleep in. When the weather began to grow warm in the spring, she usually pushed some bed out of its place, near a window, and put her own beside it; and when the winter approached, she would choose a spot near the stove, and occupy it with her bed, in spite of all remonstrance. We were all convinced that it was generally best to yield to her.
She was often set to work in different ways: but, whenever she was dissatisfied with doing anything would devise some trick that would make the Superior or old nuns drive her off; and whenever any suspicion was expressed of her being in her right mind, she would say that she did not know what she was doing; and all the difficulty arose from her repeating prayers too much, which wearied and distracted her mind.
I was once directed to assist Jane Ray in shifting the beds of the nuns. When we came to those of some of the sisters whom she most disliked, she said, now we will pay them for some of the penances we have suffered on their account; and taking some thistles she mixed them with the straw. At night, the first of them that got into bed felt the thistles, and cried out. The night-watch exclaimed, as usual, "you are breaking silence there." And then another screamed as she was scratched by the thistles, and another. The old nun then called on all who had broken silence to rise, and ordered them to sleep under their beds as a penance, which they silently complied with. Jane and I afterwards confessed, when it was all over, and took some trifling penance which the priest imposed.
