rd which it was forever turned. A
huge book of accounts was tucked under one of his arms, while a great
bunch of keys hung from the other hand, a badge of his office, and also
on occasion of impatience a weapon of offense, as many a scarred head
among rustics and lay brothers could testify.

The Abbot sighed wearily, for he suffered much at the hands of his
strenuous agent. "Well, Brother Samuel, what is your will?" he asked.

"Holy father, I have to report that I have sold the wool to Master
Baldwin of Winchester at two shillings a bale more than it fetched last
year, for the murrain among the sheep has raised the price."

"You have done well, brother."

"I have also to tell you that I have distrained Wat the warrener from
his cottage, for his Christmas rent is still unpaid, nor the hen-rents
of last year."

"He has a wife and four children, brother." He was a good, easy man, the
Abbot, though liable to be overborne by his sterner subordinate.

"It is true, holy father; but if I should pass him, then how am I to
ask the rent of the foresters of Puttenham, or the hinds in the village?
Such a thing spreads from house to house, and where then is the wealth
of Waverley?"

"What else, Brother Samuel?"

"There is the matter of the fish-ponds."

The Abbot's face brightened. It was a subject upon which he was an
authority. If the rule of his Order had robbed him of the softer joys of
life, he had the keener zest for those which remained.

"How have the char prospered, brother?"

"They have done well, holy father, but the carp have died in the Abbot's
pond."

"Carp prosper only upon a gravel bottom. They must be put in also in
their due proportion, three milters to one spawner, brother sacrist,
and the spot must be free from wind, stony and sandy, an ell deep, with
willows and grass upon the banks. Mud for tench, brother, gravel for
carp."

The sacrist leaned forward with the face of one who bears tidings of
woe. "There are pike in the Abbot's pond," said he.

"Pike!" cried the Abbot in horror. "As well shut up a wolf in our
sheepfold. How came a pike in the pond? There were no pike last year,
and a pike does not fall with the rain nor rise in the springs. The pond
must be drained, or we shall spend next Lent upon stockfish, and have
the brethren down with the great sickness ere Easter Sunday has come to
absolve us from our abstinence."

"The pond shall be drained, holy father; I have already ordered it. Then