me on the door. The Rev. S. Augustine,
or something."

He tip-toed back to the fire, lifted his tails, and stood warming
himself with a complacent but nervous smile.

(Frank regarded him with wonder.)

"What do all the Johnnies do here?" asked the Major presently. "Have a
rare old time, I expect. I bet they've got cellars under here all right.
Just like those chaps in comic pictures, ain't it?"

(Frank decided it was no use to try to explain.)

The Major babbled on a minute or two longer, requiring no answer, and
every now and then having his roving eye caught by some new marvel. He
fingered a sprig of yew that was twisted into a crucifix hung over the
bed. ("Expect it's one of those old relics," he said, "some lie or
other.") He humorously dressed up the statue of the saint in a
pocket-handkerchief, and said: "Let us pray," in a loud whisper, with
one eye on the door. And all the while there still lay on him apparently
the impression that if he talked loud or made any perceptible sound he
would be turned out again.

He was just beginning a few steps of a noiseless high-kicking dance when
there was a tap at the door, and he collapsed into an attitude of
weak-kneed humility. Dom Hildebrand came in.

"If you're ready," he said, "we might go down to supper."

* * * * *

Frank relates in his diary that of all else in the monastery, apart from
the church, the refectory and its manners impressed him most. (How easy
it is to picture it when one has once seen the ceremonies!)

He sat at a center table, with the Major opposite (looking smaller than
ever), before a cloth laid with knife, spoon and forks. All round the
walls on a low dais, with their backs against them, sat a row of perhaps
forty monks, of every age, kind and condition. The tables were bare
wood, laid simply with utensils and no cloths, with a napkin in each
place. At the end opposite the door there sat at a table all alone a
big, portly, kindly-faced man, of a startlingly fatherly appearance,
clean-shaven, gray-haired, and with fine features. This was the Abbot.
Above him hung a crucifix, with the single word "_Sitio_" beneath it on
a small black label.

The meal began, however, with the ceremony of singing grace. The rows of
monks stood out, with one in the middle, facing the Abbot, each with his
hood forward and his hands hidden in his scapular. It was sung to a
grave tone, with sudden intonations, by the united voice