e of coals upon the shore."

Of the earth dug out of the fish pools he piled up a high mound or
barrow, and stocked it well with saplings of oak and beech, ash and
pine, and flowering bushes; and about the mound a spiral way wound to
the top, and from the top one saw to the four winds over the high woods
of Amounderness, and on the west, beyond the forest, the white sands of
the shore and the fresh sea. When the saplings grew tall and stout,
the green leaves shut out all sight of the Priory; even the tower of
the church; and above the trees in the bright air it was as though one
had got half-way to heaven.

Now after a little while the Prior reared on the high summit a vast
cross of oak, rooted firmly amid huge boulders, and the face of our
Lord crucified was turned to the west, and His arms were opened wide to
the sea and to the passing ships. And beneath the flying sails, far
away, the mariners and fisher-folk could see the cross in the sky, and
they bared their heads to the calvary of Kilgrimol. So the name of our
house and our Christ was known in strange waters and in distant havens.

All that climbing greenwood of the mound was alive with wild creatures,
winged and four-footed, and no one was suffered to disquiet or annoy
them. To us it seemed that the Prior was as well known to all the wild
things far and near as he was to us, for the little birds fluttered
about him, and the squirrels leaped from tree to tree along the way he
went, and the fawns ran from the covert to thrust their noses into his
hand. And in the winter time, if the snow lay deep and there was any
dearth, food was made ready for them and they came in flocks and troops
to the Priory, knowing well, one would think, that the Prior would be
their loving almoner.

Bee-hives, too, he set up, and grew all manner of flowers, both for the
use of the little brown toilers and for the joyance of the brethren;
and of the flowers he spoke deep and beautiful parables too many to be
told of in this book.

Now in the third year of his rule the Prior heard tidings of the
companion he had never forgotten, and he took into his confidence one
of the religious named Bede, in whom he had great trust, and he told
him the story of their friendship. "And now, Bede," he said, "I would
have thee go on a long journey, even to the golden city of London, and
seek out my friend. He will easily be found, for men know his name,
and he hath grown to some repute, and t