so trivial a thing.' And the cure said, 'My children, I were
unworthy to be your pastor could I not forgive a wrong; go in peace, and
get me as many children as may be, that by the double fees the cure you
love may miss starvation.'

"And the bishop often told the story, and it kept his memory of the cure
alive, and at last he shifted him to a decent parish, where he can offer
a glass of old Medoc to such as are worthy of it. Their name it is not
legion."

A light broke in upon Gerard, his countenance showed it.

"Ay!" said his host, "I am that cure: so now thou canst guess why I said
'At their old tricks.' My life on't they have wheedled my successor into
remitting those funeral fees. You are well out of that parish. And so am
I."

The cure's little niece burst in, "Uncle, the weighing--la! a stranger!"
And burst out.

The cure rose directly, but would not part with Gerard.

"Wet thy beard once more, and come with me."

In the church porch they found the sexton with a huge pair of scales,
and weights of all sizes. Several humble persons were standing by, and
soon a woman stepped forward with a sickly child and said, "Be it heavy
be it light, I vow, in rye meal of the best, whate'er this child shall
weigh, and the same will duly pay to Holy Church, an if he shall cast
his trouble. Pray, good people, for this child, and for me his mother
hither come in dole and care!"

The child was weighed, and yelled as if the scale had been the font.

"Courage! dame," cried Gerard. "This is a good sign. There is plenty of
life here to battle its trouble."

"Now, blest be the tongue that tells me so," said the poor woman. She
hushed her ponderling against her bosom, and stood aloof watching,
whilst another woman brought her child to scale.

But presently a loud, dictatorial voice was heard, "Way there, make way
for the seigneur!"

The small folk parted on both sides like waves ploughed by a lordly
galley, and in marched in gorgeous attire, his cap adorned by a feather
with a topaz at its root, his jerkin richly furred, satin doublet, red
hose, shoes like skates, diamond-hilted sword in velvet scabbard, and
hawk on his wrist, "the lord of the manor." He flung himself into the
scales as if he was lord of the zodiac as well as the manor: whereat the
hawk balanced and flapped; but stuck: then winked.

While the sexton heaved in the great weights, the cure told Gerard, "My
lord had been sick unto death, and vowed his weight