overlooked the broad moat, on the western side of the priory; for
it was the recreation hour, between vespers and compline.

Across the woods came the knell of parting day, the curfew from the
tower of Hamelsham: the "lowing herd wound slowly o'er the lea"
from the Dicker, when two friars came in sight, who wore the robe
of Saint Francis, and approached the gateway.

"There be some of those 'kittle cattle,' the new brethren," said
the old porter from his grated window in the gateway tower over the
bridge. "If I had my will, they should spend the night on the
heath."

The friars rang the bell. The porter reluctantly opened.

"Who are ye?"

"Two poor brethren of Saint Francis."

"What do you want?"

"The wayfarer's welcome. Bed and board according to the rule of
your hospitable house."

"We like not you grey friars--for we are told you are setters forth
of strange doctrines, and disturb steady old church folk. But
natheless the hospitium is open to you as to all, whether gentle or
simple, lay folk or clerks. So enter, only if you threw those gray
cloaks into the moat, you would be more welcome."

They knew that, but they were not ashamed of their colours.

"Look," said one of the monks to his fellow; "they that have turned
the world upside down have come hither also."

"Whom the warder hath received."

"They will find scant welcome."

Meanwhile Martin was looking with curious eyes on the buildings
which had first received him when he escaped from the outlaw life
of old. But the evening meal was already prepared, and the bell
rang for supper.

Many guests were there--lay folk on pilgrimage, palmers and
pilgrims with their stories, pedlars with their wares, clerics on
their road to the Continent from the central parts of the island,
men-at-arms, Englishmen, Normans, Gascons, Provencals. And all had
good fare, while a monk in nasal voice read:

A good old homily of Saint Guthlac of Croyland,

Above the clatter of knives and dishes.

Now this Saint Guthlac was an abbot of Croyland, and many conflicts
did he have with the devils of the fen country, whose presence
could generally be ascertained by the hissing which took place when
they settled with their fiery hoofs and claws on the wet swamps and
moist sedges.

"And my brethren, certes we poor monks of Saint Benedict may learn
much from these fiends; and first, from their hot and fiery tempers
and bodies, we may be taught to say with Saint Ambrose:"