"`The Annals of Cicely,'" quoth he; "for she is beginning, middle, and
end of it."

I felt as though he had cast a pitcher of cold water over me. I sat
looking at my parchment.

"Read it over, prithee," saith he, "and count how many great I's be
therein."

So did I, and by my troth there were seventy-seven. Seventy-seven of
me! and all in six leaves of parchment, forsooth. How many soever shall
there be by the time I make an end?

"That's an ill beginning, Jack!" said I, and I felt ready to cry. "Must
I begin over again?"

"Sissot," quoth he, "nothing is ever undone in this world."

"What mean you?" said I.

"There was man died the year before thou wert born," he made answer,
"that was great friend of my father. He was old when my father was
young, yet for all that were they right good friends. He was a very
learned man; so wise in respect of things known but to few, that most
men accounted him a very magician, and no good Christian. Howbeit, my
father said that was but folly and slander. He told my father some of
the strange matters that he found in nature; and amongst them, one
thing, which hath ever stuck by me. Saith Friar Roger, Nothing is ever
destroyed. Nothing that hath once had being, can ever cease to be."

"Why, Jack!" cried I. "Verily that must be folly! I cast this scrap of
parchment on the chafer, and it burneth up. It is gone, see thou.
Surely it hath ceased to be?"

"No," saith he. "It is gone into ashes and smoke."

"What be ashes and smoke?" asked I, laughing.

"Why, they be ashes and smoke," he made answer. "And the smoke curleth
up chimney, and goeth out into the air: and the air cometh up Sissot's
nose-thirls, and feedeth her bodily life; and Sissot maketh
seventy-seven I's to six pages of parchment."

"Now, Jack, softly!" said I.

"So it is, my dame," pursueth he. "Every thing that dieth, feedeth
somewhat that liveth. But I can go further an' thou wilt. Friar Roger
thought (though he had not proved it) that every word spoken might as it
were dwell in the air, and at bidding of God hereafter, all those words
should return to life and be heard again by all the world."

I could not help but laugh.

"Why, what a din!" said I. "Do but think, all the words, in all
languages, buzzing about man's ears, that were ever spoken since Adam
dwelt in the Garden of Eden!"

"Wouldst thou like all thy words repeated thus, Sissot?"

"I would not mind, Jack."

"Wouldst not