for writing-paper!--and I fear there shall be never a bit of
parchment in the house. Wax, moreover--Richard, butler, took the last
for his corks. Dear, dear! only to think his Grace should lack matter
for writing! Yet, truly, 'tis not unnatural for a prelate. Now,
whatever shall man do?"

"Give his Grace a tile and a paint-brush," said careless Matthew.

"Cut a leaf out of a book," suggested illiterate Godfrey.

Father Jordan looked at the last speaker as if he had proposed to cook a
child for dinner. Cut a leaf out of a book! Murder, theft, and arson
combined, would scarcely have been more horrible in his eyes.

"Holy saints, deliver us!" was his shocked answer.

Norman Hylton came to the rescue.

"I have here a small strip of parchment," said he, "if his Grace were
pleased to make use thereof. I had laid it by for a letter to my
mother, but his Grace's need is more than mine."

The Archbishop took the offered gift with a smile.

"I thank thee, my son," said he. "In good sooth, at this moment my need
is great, seeing death waiteth for no man."

He sat down, and had scarcely remembered the want of ink, when Father
Jordan came up, carrying a very dilapidated old inkhorn.

"If your Grace were pleased to essay this, and could serve you withal,"
suggested he, dubiously; "soothly, there is somewhat black at the
bottom."

"And there is alegar in the house, plenty," added Matthew.

The Archbishop looked about for the pen.

"Unlucky mortal that I am!" cried Father Jordan, smiting himself on the
forehead. "Never a quill have I, by my troth!"

"Have you a goose? That might mend matters," said Matthew. "Had we but
a goose, there should be quills enow."

"_Men culpa, mea culpa_!" cried poor Father Jordan, as though he were at
confession, to the excessive amusement of the young men.

Norman, who had run upstairs on finding the pen lacking, now returned
with one in his hand.

"Here is a quill, if your Grace be pleased withal. It is but an old
one, yet I have no better," he said, modestly.

"It shall full well serve me, my son," was the answer; "and I thank thee
for thy courtesy."

For his day the Archbishop was a skilful penman, which does not by any
means convey the idea of covering sheet after sheet of paper with rapid
writing. The strip of parchment was about fourteen inches by four. He
laid it lengthwise before him, and the letters grew slowly on it, in the
old black letter hand, which took s