in to him twelve nuns, bringing with them a youth who had not
yet reached manhood, but was large and powerful of frame, and as
handsome of face as any man he had ever seen.

"Sir," said the ladies, with weeping eyes, "we bring you this child,
whom we have long nourished, and pray you to make him a knight; for
there is no worthier man from whom he can receive the order of
knighthood, and we hold him worthy of your sword."

Lancelot looked long at the young squire, and saw that he was seemly,
and demure as a dove, and of wonderful beauty of form and features, and
his heart went out with great love for the beautiful youth.

"What is his name?" asked Lancelot.

"We call him Galahad."

"Comes this desire from himself?"

"It does," said they all.

"From whom has he sprung?"

"His mother is dead. His father is a full noble knight, as you shall
soon learn."

"Then he shall be knighted by my hand to-morrow at the morning services,
for truly he seems worthy of it."

That night, Lancelot's cousins, Bors and Lionel, stopped at the abbey,
and spent there a cheery evening with their noble kinsman. At early morn
of the next day he gave the accolade to the youth, pronouncing him
knight, and bidding Bors and Lionel to stand as his godfathers in the
order of knighthood.

"And may God make you a good man and a noble knight," he said. "Beauty
you have now, equal to any I have ever seen, and strength and courage I
doubt not; if you bear with these a noble heart and an earnest mind you
have the best treasures that God can confer or man possess."

Then, when they had broken their fast, Lancelot said to the demure and
modest young knight,--

"Fair sir, will you come with me to the court of King Arthur?"

"I humbly beg your pardon," said Galahad, "but I cannot come at this
time. Trust me to follow soon."

Then Lancelot and his cousins left the abbey and rode to Camelot, where
they arrived before the hour of the feast. In the great hall were many
noble knights, some of them strangers, who walked about the Round Table,
reading the names in letters of gold in the several seats, and saying,--

"Here sits Gawaine, here Lancelot, here Percivale," and so with the
others.

At length they came to the seat perilous, in which no man but Percivale
had hitherto dared to sit, and which he no longer occupied. To their
deep surprise they found there newly written in letters of gold these
words,--

"Four hundred and fifty-four winters a