t him and brought him to the bishop's
room as a wonder. The beast-loving man, instead of sending him to the
spit, offered him some bread, which he ate, and immediately struck up an
enthusiastic friendship with his master, caring nothing for any throngs
about him. After a time he would nestle his long neck far up into the
bishop's wide sleeve, toying with him and asking him for things with
pretty little clatterings. The bird seemed to know some days before he
was due that he was coming, for it flapped about the lake and made
cries. It would leave the water and stalk through the house walking wide
in the legs. It would neither notice nor brook any other man, but rather
seemed jealous, and would hiss and flap away the rest of the company. If
the bishop slept or watched, the swan would keep dogs and other animals
at bay. With true spiritual instinct it would peck hard at the calves of
chaplains. If the bishop was abed no one was allowed near him without a
most distressing scene, and there was no cajoling this zealous watchman.
When the bishop went away the bird would retire to the middle of its
pool, and merely condescend to take rations from the steward; but if its
friend returned it would have none of servants. Even two years' interval
made no difference to the faithful swan. It prophetically proclaimed his
unexpected arrival. When the carts and forerunners arrived (with the
household stuffs) the swan would push boldly in among the crowd and cry
aloud with delight when at last it caught the sound of its master's
voice, and it would go with him through the cloister to his room,
upstairs and all, and could not be got out without force. Hugh fed it
with fingers of bread he sliced with his own hand. This went on for
nearly all Hugh's episcopate. But in his last Easter the swan seemed ill
and sullen, and kept to his pond. After some chase they caught him in
the sedge, and brought him in, the picture of unhappiness, with drooping
head and trailing wing, before the bishop. The poor bird was to lose its
friend six months after, and seemed to resent the cruel severance of
coming death, though it was itself to live for many a day after its
master had gone home to his rest. There, floating conspicuous on the
lake, it reminded orphaned hearts of their innocent, kind, and pure
friend who had lived patiently and fearlessly, and taken death with a
song--the new song of the Redeemed.

The first act of the new bishop was naturally to enlis