"Only over his books," said the prior.

"That is because I prefer the lance and the bow to pot hooks and
hangers on parchment."

The boy spoke out fearlessly, almost pertly, like a spoiled child.
Yet he had a winning manner, which reconciled his elders to his
freedom.

"Now, go back to thy pot hooks and hangers, my boy, for the
present," said the earl; "and tomorrow, perchance, I may take thee
with me, if the storm abate.

"And now," said the earl, when Hubert was gone, "send for the other
lad; the waif and stray from the forest."

So Hubert retired and Martin appeared. It was by no means an
uninteresting face, that which the earl now scanned, but quite
unlike the features of Hubert--a round face, contrasting with the
oval outlines of the other--with twinkling eyes and curling hair; a
face which ought to be lit up with smiles, but which was sad for
the moment. Poor boy! he had just parted from his mother.

"Art thou willing to go away with me, my child?"

"Yes," said he sadly, "since she told me to go; but I love her."

"Thy name is Martin?"