t, however, in the nature of things that a lad of twenty,
with young life glowing in his veins and all the wide world
before him, should spend his first hours of freedom in mourning
for what he had left. long ere alleyne was out of sound of the
beaulieu bells he was striding sturdily along, swinging his staff
and whistling as merrily as the birds in the thicket. it was an
evening to raise a man's heart. the sun shining slantwise
through the trees threw delicate traceries across the road, with
bars of golden light between. away in the distance before and
behind, the green boughs, now turning in places to a coppery
redness, shot their broad arches across the track. the still
summer air was heavy with the resinous smell of the great forest.
here and there a tawny brook prattled out from among the
underwood and lost itself again in the ferns and brambles upon
the further side. save the dull piping of insects and the sough
of the leaves, there was silence everywhere--the sweet restful
silence of nature.
and yet there was no want of life--the whole wide wood was full
of it. now it was a lithe, furtive stoat which shot across the
path upon some fell errand of its own; then it was a wild cat
which squatted upon the outlying branch of an oak and peeped at
the traveller with a yellow and dubious eye. once it was a wild
sow which scuttled out of the bracken, with two young sounders at
her heels, and once a lordly red staggard walked daintily out
from among the tree trunks, and looked around him with the
fearless gaze of one who lived under the king's own high
protection. alleyne gave his staff a merry flourish, however,
and the red deer bethought him that the king was far off, so
streaked away from whence he came.
the youth had now journeyed considerably beyond the furthest
domains of the abbey. he was the more surprised therefore when,
on coming round a turn in the path, he perceived a man clad in
the familiar garb of the order, and seated in a clump of heather
by the roadside. alleyne had known every brother well, but this
was a face which was new to him--a face which was very red and
puffed, working this way and that, as though the man were sore
perplexed in his mind. once he shook both hands furiously in the
air, and twice he sprang from his seat and hurried down the road.
when he rose, however, alleyne observed that his robe was much
too long and loose for him in every direction, trailing upon the
ground and bagging about his ankles, so that even with trussed-up
skirts he could make little progress. he ran once, but the long
gown clogged him so that he slowed down into a shambling walk,
and finally plumped into the heather once more.
"young friend," said he, when alleyne was abreast of him, "i fear
from thy garb that thou canst know little of the abbey of
beaulieu?"
"then you are in error, friend," the clerk answered, "for i have
spent all my days within its walls."
"hast so indeed?" cried he. "then perhaps canst tell me the name
of a great loathly lump of a brother wi' freckled face an' a hand
like a spade. his eyes were black an' his hair was red an' his
voice like the parish bull. i trow that there cannot be two
alike in the same cloisters."
"that surely can be no other than brother john," said alleyne.
"i trust he has done you no wrong, that you should be so hot
against him."
"wrong, quotha!" cried the other, jumping out of the heather.
"wrong! why he hath stolen every plack of clothing off my back,
if that be a wrong, and hath left me here in this sorry frock of
white falding, so that i have shame to go back to my wife, lest
she think that i have donned her old kirtle. harrow and alas
that ever i should have met him!"
"but how came this?" asked the young clerk, who could scarce keep
from laughter at the sight of the hot little man so swathed in
the great white cloak.
"it came in this way," he said, sitting down once more: "i was
passing this way, hoping to reach lymington ere nightfall when i
came on this red-headed knave seated even where we are sitting
now. i uncovered and louted as i passed thinking that he might
be a holy man at his orisons, but he called to me and asked me if
i had heard speak of the new indulgence in favor of the
cistercians. 'not i,' i answered. 'then the worse for thy
soul!' said he; and with that he broke into a long tale how that
on account of the virtues of the abbot berghersh it had been
decreed by the pope that whoever should wear the habit of a monk
of beaulieu for as long as he might say the seven psalms of david
should be assured of the kingdom of heaven. when i heard this i
prayed him on my knees that he would give me the use of his gown,
which after many contentions he at last agreed to do, on my
paying him three marks towards the regilding of the image of
laurence t
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