who was not so
overcome with fear as his comrade, made answer that, as the door was
closed against them, they must e'en try to get through the window, for,
whatever befel them, they could meet with nothing worse than death; to
which the fat Friar agreed.

The young one then opened the window, and, finding that it was not very
high above the ground, leaped lightly down and fled as fast and as far
as he could, without waiting for his companion. The latter attempted the
same hazardous jump, but in place of leaping, fell so heavily by reason
of his weight, that one of his legs was sorely hurt, and he could not
rise from the ground.

Finding himself forsaken by his companion and being unable to follow
him, he looked around him to see where he might hide, and could espy
nothing save a pigsty, to which he dragged himself as well as he could.
And as he opened the door to hide himself within, out rushed two huge
pigs, whose place the unhappy Friar took, closing the little door upon
himself, and hoping that, when he heard the sound of passers-by, he
would be able to call out and obtain assistance.

As soon as the morning was come, however, the butcher got ready his big
knives, and bade his wife bear him company whilst he went to slaughter
his fat pig. And when he reached the sty in which the Grey Friar lay
concealed, he opened the little door and began to call at the top of his
voice--

"Come out, Master Grey Friar, come out! I intend to have some of your
chitterlings to-day."

The poor Friar, who was not able to stand upon his leg, crawled on
all-fours out of the sty, crying for mercy as loud as he could. But if
the hapless Friar was in great terror, the butcher and his wife were in
no less; for they thought that St. Francis was wrathful with them for
calling a beast a Grey Friar, and therefore threw themselves upon their
knees asking pardon of St. Francis and his Order. Thus, the Friar was
crying to the butcher for mercy on the one hand, and the butcher to
the Friar on the other, in such sort that a quarter of an hour went by
before they felt safe from each other.

Perceiving at last that the butcher intended him no hurt, the good
father told him the reason why he had hidden himself in the sty. Then
was their fear turned to laughter, except, indeed, that the poor Friar's
leg was too painful to suffer him to be merry. However, the butcher
brought him into the house, where he caused the hurt to be carefully
dressed.

H