if to show his skill.

But Winfried stopped him with a friendly lifting of the hand.

"Not so, my son; that was not my meaning. When we pray, we speak
to God; when we read, it is God who speaks to us. I ask whether
thou hast heard what He has said to thee, in thine own words, in
the common speech. Come, give us again the message of the warrior
and his armor and his battle, in the mother-tongue, so that all
can understand it."

The boy hesitated, blushed, stammered; then he came around to
Winfried's seat, bringing the book. "Take the book, my father," he
cried, "and read it for me. I cannot see the meaning plain, though
I love the sound of the words. Religion I know, and the doctrines
of our faith, and the life of priests and nuns in the cloister,
for which my grandmother designs me, though it likes me little.
And fighting I know, and the life of warriors and heroes, for I
have read of it in Virgil and the ancients, and heard a bit from
the soldiers at Treves; and I would fain taste more of it, for it
likes me much. But how the two lives fit together, or what need
there is of armor for a clerk in holy orders, I can never see.
Tell me the meaning, for if there is a man in all the world that
knows it, I am sure it is none other than thou."

So Winfried took the book and closed it, clasping the boy's hand
with his own.

"Let us first dismiss the others to their vespers," said he, "lest
they should be weary."