such fair bodies. What are your names?"

The younger knelt with his fingers joined and his eyes meekly on the
grass, while Sholto, who had risen, stood quietly by with his steel
cap in his hand.

"Laurence MacKim," answered the younger, modestly, without venturing
to raise his eyes from the ground, "and this is my brother Sholto."

"Can you sing, pretty boy?" said the Abbot to Laurence.

"We have never been taught," answered downright Sholto. But his
brother, feeling that he was losing chances, broke in:

"I can sing, if it please your holiness."

"And what can you sing, sweet lad?" asked the Abbot, smiling with
expectation and setting his hand to his best ear to assist his
increasing deafness.

"Shut your fool's mouth!" said Sholto under his breath to his brother.

"Shut your own! 'Tis ugly as a rat-trap at any rate!" responded
Laurence in the same key. Then aloud to the Abbot he said, "An it
please you, sir, I can sing 'O Mary Quean!'"

The Abbot smiled, well pleased.

"Ah, exceeding proper, a song to the honour of the Queen of Heaven (he
devoutly crossed himself at the name),--I knew that I could not be