somewhat less sweet. You have sung well to the praise of our Lady!
What did you say your name was? Of a surety, we must have you at
Sweetheart. And you have the Latin, too, as I heard in the hymn. It is
a thing most marvellous. Verily, the very unction of grace must have
visited you in your cradle!"

Laurence held down his head with all his native modesty, but the more
open Sholto grew red in the face, hearing behind him the tittering and
shoulder-shaking of the priests and lay servants in the Abbot's train,
and being sure that they would inform their master as soon as he
passed on concerning the true import of Master Laurence's song. He was
muttering in a rapid recitative, "Oh, wait--wait, Laurie MacKim, till
I get you on the Carlinwark shore. A sore back and a stiff skinful of
bones shalt thou have, and not an inch of hide on thee that is not
black and blue. Amen!" he added, stopping his maledictions quickly,
for at that moment the Abbot came somewhat abruptly to the end of his
speech.

The great churchman rode away on his fair white mule, with a smile and
a backward wave of his hand.

"I will speak to my nephew concerning you this very day, my child," he
cried.

And the countenance of that most gentle youth kept its sweet innocence
and angelic grace to the last, but that of Sholto was more dark and
frowning than ever.