t unbearable pain. Happily, Father Shoveller,
having seen his sheep safely bestowed in a pen, bethought him of bidding
the lay brother in attendance show the young gentlemen the way to Hyde
Abbey, and turning up a street at right angles to the principal one,
they were soon out of the throng.

It was a lonely place, with a decayed uninhabited appearance, and
Brother Peter told them it had been the Jewry, whence good King Edward
had banished all the unbelieving dogs of Jews, and where no one chose to
dwell after them.

Soon they came in sight of a large extent of monastic buildings, partly
of stone, but the more domestic offices of flint and brick or mortar.
Large meadows stretched away to the banks of the Itchen, with cattle
grazing in them, but in one was a set of figures to whom the lay brother
pointed with a laugh of exulting censure.

"Long bows!" exclaimed Stephen. "Who be they?"

"Brethren of Saint Grimbald, sir. Such rule doth my Lord of Hyde keep,
mitred abbot though he be. They say the good bishop hath called him to
order, but what recks he of bishops? Good-day, Brother Bulpett, here be
two young kinsmen of Master Birkenholt to visit him; and so
_benedicite_, fair sirs. Saint Austin's grace be with you!"

Through a gate between two little red octagonal towers, Brother Bulpett
led the two visitors, and called to another of the monks, "_Benedicite_,
Father Segrim, here be two striplings wanting speech of old Birkenholt."

"Looking after dead men's shoes, I trow," muttered Father Segrim, with a
sour look at the lads, as he led them through the outer court, where
some fine horses were being groomed, and then across a second court
surrounded with a beautiful cloister, with flower beds in front of it.
Here, on a stone bench, in the sun, clad in a gown furred with rabbit
skin, sat a decrepit old man, both his hands clasped over his staff.
Into his deaf ears their guide shouted, "These boys say they are your
kindred, Master Birkenholt."

"Anan?" said the old man, trembling with palsy. The lads knew him to be
older than their father, but they were taken by surprise at such
feebleness, and the monk did not aid them, only saying roughly, "There
he is. Tell your errand."

"How fares it with you, uncle?" ventured Ambrose.

"Who be ye? I know none of you," muttered the old man, shaking his head
still more.

"We are Ambrose and Stephen from the Forest," shouted Ambrose.

"Ah Steve! poor Stevie! The accur