as a degrading remnant of his life at Michelham, yet none could
read and write so well as he amongst the pages, and he had his
Latin declensions and conjugations well by heart, while he could
read and interpret in good Norman French, or indifferent English,
the Gospels in the large illuminated Missal; but the silly lad was
actually ashamed of this, and would have bartered it all for the
emptiest success in the tilt yard.

On the contrary, little Martin, who could not yet read a line, was
throwing the whole deep earnestness of an active intellect into the
work.

"Courage! little friend," said the chaplain, "and thou wilt do as
well as the wisest here, only be not impatient or discouraged."

And to Hubert he said one day:

"This hardly represents your best work, my son, you did better even
yesterday."

Hubert tossed his head.

"Martin cares only for books--I want to learn better things; he may
be a monk, I will be a soldier."

His literary acquirements, unusual in the time, increased his
influence and reputation.

"And dost thou know," said a deep voice, "what is the first duty of
a soldier?"