yed for, there was a pause for
recreation in the cloister and the finishing of further business before
they assembled again in time to go into church for the high mass, at
which the work and prayers of the day were gathered up and consecrated
in a supreme offering. Even the dinner that followed was a religious
ceremony; it began by a salutation of the Christ in glory that was on
the wall over the Prior's table, and then a long grace was sung before
they took their seats. The reader in the stone-pulpit on the south wall
of the refectory began his business on the sounding of a bell; and at a
second stroke there was a hum and clash of dishes from the kitchen end,
and the aproned servers entered in line bearing the dishes. Immediately
the meal was begun the drink destined for the poor at the gate was set
aside, and a little later a representative of them was brought into the
refectory to receive his portion; at the close again what was left over
was collected for charity; while the community after singing part of the
grace after meat went to finish it in the church.

Chris learned to love the quiet religious graciousness of the refectory.
The taking of food here was a consecrated action; it seemed a
sacramental thing. He loved the restraint and preciseness of it, ensured
by the solemn crucifix over the door with its pathetic inscription
"SITIO," the polished oak tables, solid and narrow, the shining pewter
dishes, the folded napkins, the cleanly-served plentiful food, to each
man his portion, the indescribable dignity of the prior's little table,
the bowing of the servers before it, the mellow grace ringing out in its
monotone that broke into minor thirds and octaves of melody, like a
grave line of woodwork on the panelling bursting into a stiff leaf or
two at its ends. There was a strange and wonderful romance it about on
early autumn evenings as the light died out behind the stained windows
and the reader's face glowed homely and strong between his two candles
on the pulpit. And surely these tales of saints, the extract from the
Rule, these portions of Scripture sung with long pauses and on a
monotone for fear that the reader's personality should obscure the
message of what he read--surely this was a better accompaniment to the
taking of food, in itself so gross a thing, than the feverish chatter of
a secular hall and the bustling and officiousness of paid servants.

After a general washing of hands the monks dispersed to