hort and loud, "an
evil day for a fat man who hath been most basely bereft of a goodly ass
--holy Saint Dunstan, how I gasp!" and putting back the cowl from his
tonsured crown, he puffed out his cheeks and mopped his face. "Hearkee
now, good youth, hath there passed thee by ever a ribald in an
escalloped hood--an unhallowed, long-legged, scurvy archer knave
astride a fair white ass, my son?"

"Truly," nodded Beltane, "we parted company scarce an hour since."

The friar sat him down in the shade of the willows and sighing, mopped
his face again; quoth he:

"Now may the curse of Saint Augustine, Saint Benedict, Saint Cuthbert
and Saint Dominic light upon him for a lewd fellow, a clapper-claw, a
thieving dog who hath no regard for Holy Church--forsooth a most
vicious rogue, _monstrum nulla virtute redemptum a vitiis_!"

"Good friar, thy tongue is something harsh, methinks. Here be four
saints with as many curses, and all for one small ass!"

The friar puffed out his cheeks and sighed:

"'Twas a goodly ass, my son, a fair and gentle beast and of an easy
gait, and I am one that loveth not to trip it in the dust. Moreover
'twas the property of Holy Church! To take from thy fellow is evil, to
steal from thy lord is worse, but to ravish from Holy Church--_per de_
'tis sacrilege, 'tis foul blasphemy thrice--aye thirty times damned and
beyond all hope of redemption! So now do I consign yon archer-knave to
the lowest pit of Acheron--_damnatus est_, amen! Yet, my son, here--by
the mercy of heaven is a treasure the rogue hath overlooked, a pasty
most rarely seasoned that I had this day from my lord's own table. 'Tis
something small for two, alack and yet--stay--who comes?"

Now, lifting his head, Beltane beheld a man, bent and ragged who crept
towards them on a stick; his face, low-stooped, was hid 'neath long
and matted hair, but his tatters plainly showed the hideous nakedness
of limbs pinched and shrunken by famine, while about his neck was a
heavy iron collar such as all serfs must needs wear. Being come near he
paused, leaning upon his staff, and cried out in a strange, cracked
voice:

"O ye that are strong and may see the blessed sun, show pity on one
that is feeble and walketh ever in the dark!" And now, beneath the
tangled hair, Beltane beheld a livid face in whose pale oval, the
eyeless sockets glowed fierce and red; moreover he saw that the man's
right arm was but a mutilated stump, whereat Beltane shivered and,