u ever have that feeling?"

But Chator was either not sufficiently introspective so to resolve his
moods, or else he was too simply set on his own naive religion for his
personality to plunge haphazard into such spiritual currents uncharted.

The pleasantest time of the monastic week was Sunday afternoon, when Dom
Cuthbert, very lank and pontifical, would lean back in the deepest
wicker chair of the library to listen to various Thoughts culled by the
brethren from their week's reading. The Thought he adjudged best was
with a diamond pencil immortalized upon a window-pane, and the lucky
discoverer derived as much satisfaction from the verdict as was
compatible with Benedictine humility. Dom Cuthbert allowed Michael and
Chator to share in these occasions, and he evidently enjoyed the variety
of choice which displayed so nicely the characters of his flock.

One afternoon Michael chose for his excerpt Don Quixote's exclamation,
"How these enchanters hate me, Sancho," with Sancho's reply, "O dismal
and ill-minded enchanters."

The brethren laughed very loudly at this, for though they were English
monks, and might have been considered eccentric by the Saxon world,
their minds really ran on lines of sophisticated piety over
platitudinous sleepers of thought. Michael blushed defiantly, and looked
at Dom Cuthbert for comprehension.

"Hark at the idealist's complaint of disillusionment by the Prince of
Darkness," said Dom Cuthbert, smiling.

"It's not a complaint," Michael contradicted. "It's just a remark.
That's why I chose it. Besides, it gives me a satisfied feeling. Words
often make me feel hungry."

The monks interrupted him with more laughter, and Michael, furiously
self-conscious, left the library and went to sit alone in the stillest
part of the hazel coppice.

But when he came back in the silent minutes before Vespers he read his
sentence on the window-pane, and blinked half tearfully at the westering
sun. He never had another Thought enshrined, because he was for ever
after this trying to find sentences that would annoy Dom Gilbert, whom
he suspected of leading the laughter. Visitors began to come to the
Abbey now--and the two boys were much interested in the people who
flitted past almost from day to day. Among them was Mr. Prout who kept
up a duet of volubility with Chator from morning to night for nearly a
week, at the end of which he returned to his Bournemouth bank. These
discussions amused Michael most w