Wilfred thoughtfully. "Well, lad,
He gave him--a grave in Moab, far away from home and friends and
country, and from His land."

"Father, what mean you? That was no guerdon!"

"Then thou wist not that jewels be alway covered with stone-crust, ere
the cutter polish them?"

"Soothly, Father, I can see the stone-crust yonder, but verily mine eyes
be too weak to pierce to the gem."

"Ah! our eyes be rarely strong enough for that. It taketh God's eyes
many times. They say,"--Wilfred went on dreamily, scanning the white
clouds which floated across the blue--"they say, the old writers of the
Jews, that this man Moyses died by the kiss of God. Methinks that were
brave payment for the grave in Moab. And after all, every man of us
must have his grave dug some whither. Is it of heavy moment,
mewondereth, whether men delve it in the swamps of Somerset or in the
Priory at Langley? God shall see the dust as clear in either; and shall
know, moreover, to count it His treasure."

"Father Wilfred, where wouldst thou fain be buried?"

"What matter, lad?"

"I know where I would:--in the holy minster at Canterbury, nigh unto the
tomb of Edward the Prince, that was so great an hero, and not far from
the blessed shrine of Saint Thomas the martyr."

"Ah!" said the monk with a sigh, "there is a little church among the
hills of Cumberland, that I had chosen rather. But the days of my
choosing are over. I would have God choose for me."

"But that might be the sea, Father Wilfred, or the traitors' elms
[Tyburn.] by London, or the plague dead-pit."

"Child! when the Lord cometh with all His saints, there will be no
labels on the raised bodies, to note where the dust was found lying."

And Wilfred turned back to his desk, and took up his pen. Both were
silent for a time; but it was the old monk who resumed the conversation.

"Thou wouldst fain attain greatness, Bertram," he said. "Shall I tell
thee of two deeds done but this sennight past, that I saw through yonder
lattice as I sat at my painting? Go to! I saw, firstly, a poor
shepherd lad crossing the green one morrow, on his needful toil, clad in
rough russet; and another lad lesser than he, clad in goodly velvets and
brave broidery, bade him scornfully thence out of his sight, calling him
rascal, fool, lither oaf, and the like noisome words--the shepherd lad
having in nowise offended save by his presence. And I say, lad, that
was a little deed--the deed of a little so