In the Convent of the
Grey Sisters at Ottawa we found an old English nun who, in spite
of having spent thirty-five years in a French-Canadian convent,
still retained the strong Cockney accent of her native London. She
was a cheery old soul, and, with another old English nun, had
charge of the wardrobe, which they insisted on showing me. I was
gazing at piles of clothing neatly arranged on shelves, when the
old Cockney nun clapped her hands. "We will dress you up as a
Sister," she cried, and they promptly proceeded to do so. They put
me on a habit (largest size) over my other clothes, chuckling with
glee meanwhile, and I was duly draped in the guimpe, the piece of
linen which covers a nun's head and shoulders and frames her face,
called, I believe, in English a "wimple," and my toilet was
complete except for my veil, when, by a piece of real bad luck,
the Reverend Mother and my sister came into the room. We had no
time to hide, so we were caught. Having no moustache, I flattered
myself that I made rather a saintly-looking novice, and I hid my
hands in the orthodox way in my sleeves, but the Mother Superior
was evidently very much put out.
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