To see the good Friar dancing willy-nilly among the bramble bushes,
kicking up his heels to the tune of the pipe, higher still and
higher--oh, it was a sight for Jack's eyes, for he loved the Friar to
distraction in less ways than one. So long as Jack piped, the Friar
danced. His dress was torn to shreds, but that seemed a small matter.
The thorns did admirable work, but the Friar did not care. On with the
dance! _Tara-tara-tara-ra-ra_--the Friar seemed to be enjoying himself,
though more for Jack's benefit than his own. Faster and faster shrilled
the pipe, and faster danced the Friar, until at last he fell down among
the brambles, a sorry spectacle, still kicking his feet in the air to
the merry rhythm. Then Jack ceased piping, but only to laugh; for he
had small pity for the Friar.

'Friend Jack!' cried the Friar, gathering himself up, 'forbear, I pray
you. I am nigh to death. Permit me to depart and I will be your friend
for ever.'

'Get up and go, then,' cried Jack, 'before I begin to play again.'

The good Friar needed no further permission. What remnant of a robe was
left him he gathered up, and fled to his own home. There he clothed
himself decently and made all haste to Jack's parents.

When they saw his woebegone countenance they questioned him closely.

'I have been with your son,' he replied. 'Grammercy! By these scratches
on my face, and by others you cannot see, he is in league with the Evil
One, or I am no holy Friar. He played a tune on his pipe and I
danced--danced!--think of it! And all in the bramble bushes! Your son is
plainly lost; I hesitate to think what it will cost you to save his soul
from the devil's clutch.'

'Here is a fine thing,' exclaimed the wife, turning to her husband.
'This your son has nearly killed the holy Father!'

'Benedicite!' said the good man fervently, and the Friar wondered for a
moment what he meant exactly.

When Jack returned home his father at once asked him what he had been
doing. He replied that he had been having a merry time with the good
Friar, who was so fond of music that he could dance to it
anywhere--among bramble bushes for preference. These saints, of
course----

'But what music is this you play?' broke in his father, who was growing
vastly interested. 'I should like to hear it.'

'Heaven forfend!' cried the Friar, getting uneasy.

'Yes, yes; I should like to hear it,' persisted his father.

'Then, if that is so, and you must hear his accursed