the ordinary standard of his time, but not rising to any
spirituality, and while duly observing the fast day, as to the
quality of his food, eating with the appetite of a man who lived in
the open fields.

But when their hunger was appeased, with many a fragment given to
Spring, the young Birkenholts, wearied of the endless talk that was
exchanged over the tankard, began to grow restless, and after
exchanging signs across Father Shoveller's solid person, they
simultaneously rose, and began to thank him and say they must pursue
their journey.

"How now, not so fast, my sons," said the Father; "tarry a bit, I
have more to say to thee. Prayers and provender, thou knowst--I'll
come anon. So, sir, didst say yonder beggarly Flemings haggle at
thy price for thy Southdown fleeces. Weight of dirt forsooth! Do
not we wash the sheep in the Poolhole stream, the purest water in
the shire?"

Manners withheld Ambrose from responding to Stephen's hot
impatience, while the merchant in the sleek puce-coloured coat
discussed the Flemish wool market with the monk for a good half-hour
longer.

By this time the knight's horses were brought into the yard, and the
merchant's men had made ready his palfrey, his pack-horse being
already on the way; the host's son came round with the reckoning,
and there was a general move. Stephen expected to escape, and
hardly could brook the good-natured authority with which Father
Shoveller put Ambrose aside, when he would have discharged their