till my dying day. In return for your help and kindness I would make
you a small recompense. There is an art which I have deeply studied
and in which I have attained to some small skill. If you wish, you
too shall know somewhat of my philosophy. Say, have you any
quicksilver here, or if not, will you send your man for some? Three
ounces we shall need, and you shall see what I can effect with them."

Off went the servant full speed and brought back his three ounces of
mercury. At once the canon set about his trickery. He drew out a
crucible from his gown, put in an ounce of the mercury and set it on
the fire. "Now," he said, "I have here a powder that I purchased at a
great price. Its virtues are wonderful, for it will turn any metal
into silver! Lo! I scatter some in the crucible. Now for the rest, it
shall be your part: arrange the logs around the pot and blow the
fire. Another time you will understand the ritual." Thus did that
crafty canon, that limb of wickedness, beguile the priest. To those
who knew him not he seemed a friend, those who had tried him knew him
for the fiend he was. I can scarce bring myself to tell the story of
his tricks and wickedness.

While the priest toiled blowing the fire, the sweat running down his
face with the heat, the wily canon drew out of his store a piece of
beech wood. In it he had made a cavity and inserted just an ounce of
silver shavings and stopped up the hole with wax. Now understand,
friends, here and hereafter, that with foresight of what he meant to
do, he had prepared all his cunning tricks and appliances. Then with
feigned solicitude, "Sir priest," he said, "right well have you
toiled, but still the fire burns not quite right as yet. Let me try
what I can do. Wipe your face and rest you." The priest was only too
glad of a rest, and while he wiped his face the canon stirred the