e said. 'He is in special charge of the
garden, and looks after the lay brothers employed in it. I will put
someone else in charge, while he is busy, though I doubt if any will
get as much work out of the lay brothers as he does; and indeed, he
himself labours harder than any of them. With any other, I should say
that tucking his gown round his waist, and labouring with might and
main was unseemly; but as it works off some of his superabundant
energy, I do not interfere with him.'"

"How ever did he become a monk, Father?"

"It seems that he was a somewhat sickly child, and his father sent him
to the monastery to be taught, with a view to entering the Church. He
was quick and bright in his parts, but as his health improved he grew
restless, and at fifteen refused to follow the vocation marked out for
him, and returned home; where, as I have heard, he took part in various
daring forays across the border. When he was five-and-twenty, he was
wounded well-nigh to death in one of these, and he took it as a
judgment upon him, for deserting the Church; so he returned here, and
became a lay brother. He was a very long time, before he recovered his
full strength, and before he did so he became a monk, and I believe has
bitterly regretted the fact, ever since.

"Some day, I am afraid, he will break the bounds altogether, throw away
his gown, assume a breast plate and steel cap, and become an unfrocked
monk. I believe he fights hard against his inclinations, but they are
too strong for him. If war breaks out I fear that, some day, he will be
missing.

"He will, of course, go down south, where he will be unknown; and
where, when the hair on his tonsure has grown, he can well pass as a
man-at-arms, and take service with some warlike lord. I trust that it
may not be so, but he will assuredly make a far better man-at-arms than
he will ever make a good monk."

The next morning, after practising for two hours with sword and pike,
Oswald went down, at eight o'clock, to the monastery, and was conducted
to friar Roger's cell. The latter at once began his instruction,
handing him a piece of blackened board, and a bit of chalk.

"Now," he said, "you must learn to read and write, together. There are
twenty-six letters, and of each there is a big one and a little one.
The big ones are only used at the beginning of a sentence--that is
where, if you were talking, you would stop to take breath and begin
afresh--and also at the first letter