hat his horse was killed, till
he began to struggle away from the fallen beast, when he found that his
own leg was gone."

"How horrible!" I said.

"All war is horrible, my boy," he said gravely. "Well, to go on with my
story. I believe that they came and hoisted out the poor fellow under
the tree, and carried him up to the old priory to have his broken leg
cured by one of the monks, who would be out in his garden just the same
as we are, Grant, cutting off and paring the broken boughs of his apple
and pear trees. Then they laid him in one of the cells, and his leg was
bound up and dressed with healing herbs, and the poor fellow was left to
get well."

"And did he?" I said.

"Then the gardener monk went out into the garden again and continued to
trim off the broken branches, sawing these and cutting those, and
thinking all the while about his patient in the cell.

"Then the next day came, and the poor fellow's relatives ran up to see
him, and he was in very great agony, and they called upon the monks to
help him, and they dressed the terrible injury again, and the poor
fellow was very feverish and bad in spite of all that was done. But at
last he dropped off into a weary sleep, and the poor people went away
thinking what a great thing it was to have so much knowledge of healing,
while, as soon as they had gone the monk shook his head.

"Next day came, and the relatives and friends were delighted, for the
pain was nearly all gone, and the injured man lay very still.

"`He'll soon get well now,' they said; and they went away full of hope
and quite satisfied; but the monk, after he had given the patient some
refreshing drink, went out into his garden among his trees, and then
after walking about in the sunny walk under the old stone wall, he
stopped by the mossy seat by the sun-dial, and stood looking down at the
gnomon, whose shadow marked the hours, and sighed deeply as he thought
how many times the shadow would point to noon before his poor patient
was dead."

"Why, I thought he was getting better," I said.

"Carry your ladder to the next tree, Grant," said the old gentleman,
"and you shall work while I prattle."

I obeyed him, and this time I had a great apple-tree bough to operate
upon with the thin saw. I began using the saw very gently, and
listening, for I seemed to see that monk in his long grey garment, and
rope round his waist, looking down at the sun-dial, when Old Brownsmith
went on slowly: