"I do think it is never going to set; here we have been hunting, hunting
all the day, and got nothing for our pains."

"You forget the hare and the rabbit here."

"Toss them to the dogs. Here, Bran, you brute, take this hare your
masters have been hunting all day, for your dinner;" and as he spoke he
tossed the solitary victim of his own prowess in the chase to the huge
wolfhound, which made a speedy meal upon the hare, while Alfred threw
the rabbit to the other of their two canine companions.

"I would almost as soon have lost this holiday, and spent the time with
Father Cuthbert, to be bored by his everlasting talk about our duties,
and forced to repeat '_hic, haec, hoc_,' till my head ached. What a long
homily [ii] he preached us this morning--and then that
long story about the saint."

"You are out of spirits. Father Cuthbert's tales are not so bad, after
all you seemed to like the legend he told us the other night."

"Yes, about our ancestor Sebbald and his glorious death; there was
something in that tale worth hearing; it stirred the blood--none of
your moping saints, that Sebbald."

"I once heard another legend from Father Cuthbert, about the burning of
Croyland Abbey, and how the abbot stood, saying mass at the altar,
without flinching or even turning his head, when the Danes, having fired
the place, broke into the chapel. Do you not think it wanted more
bravery to do that in cold blood than to stand firm in all the