a fine goose
pie they would make!" And especially he looked at Grayking, the plumpest
and most tempting of them all, and smacked his lips. "Oh, how I wish I
had you in my frying-pan!" he said to himself.

Now it happened that worms were rather scarce in the convent meadow that
spring. It had been dry, and the worms had crawled away to moister
places. So Grayking and his followers found it hard to get breakfast
enough. One morning, Saint Werburgh looked in vain for them in the usual
spot. At first she was only surprised; but as she waited and waited, and
still they did not come, she began to feel much alarmed.

Just as she was going down to her own dinner, the Steward, Hugh,
appeared before her cap in hand and bowing low. His fat face was puffed
and red with hurrying up the convent hill, and he looked angry.

"What is it, Master Hugh?" asked Saint Werburgh in her gentle voice.
"Have you not money enough to buy to-morrow's breakfast?" for it was his
duty to pay the convent bills.

"Nay, Lady Abbess," he answered gruffly; "it is not lack of money that
troubles me. It is abundance of geese."

"Geese! How? Why?" exclaimed Saint Werburgh, startled. "What of geese,
Master Hugh?"

"This of geese, Lady Abbess," he replied. "A flock of long-necked
thieves have been in my new-planted field of corn, and have stolen all
that was to make my harvest." Saint Werburgh bit her lips.

"What geese were they?" she faltered, though she guessed the truth.

"Whence the rascals come, I know not," he answered, "but this I know.
They are the same which gather every morning in the meadow yonder. I
spied the leader, a fat, fine thief with a black ring about his neck. It
should be a noose, indeed, for hanging. I would have them punished, Lady
Abbess."

"They shall be punished, Master Hugh," said Saint Werburgh firmly, and
she went sadly up the stair to her cell without tasting so much as a bit
of bread for her dinner. For she was sorry to find her friends such
naughty birds, and she did not want to punish them, especially Grayking.
But she knew that she must do her duty.

When she had put on her cloak and hood she went out into the courtyard
behind the convent where there were pens for keeping doves and chickens
and little pigs. And standing beside the largest of these pens Saint
Werburgh made a strange cry, like the voice of the geese themselves,--a
cry which seemed to say, "Come here, Grayking's geese, with Grayking at
the head!" And