word, he knelt down to clean the floor with shovel, broom, and whisk of straw.

Meanwhile, the Abbot questioned the two rascals to find out who had done the mischief. It stood to reason neither one had. According to an old proverb, Mischief has no master. That they had scuffled, their faces bore evidence; John had a black and blue spot under the eye, and Samuel a bloody scratch on his brow, but both denied any scuffle.

"Then how came this black and blue spot under your eye?" The same story suggested itself to John which Baron de Manx was to use later in a critical situation.

"When I tried to light the fire I could not find the flint, so I struck myself in the eyes with one fist and with the other I held the match to it, so when my eyes saw sparks I lighted the match by them."

The Abbot said nothing, but turned to the other: "How did you get that wound on your forehead?" Samuel, encouraged by John's example, was also ready with an excuse:

"I bit myself."

"How could you bite yourself in the forehead?"

"In the looking-glass."

"But you could not reach it!"

"Yes I could, I climbed up on the bench."

The Abbot compressed his lips till his fat cheeks stood out from each other, and then pronounced the sentence:—"Joannes quia bene mentitus est, accipiat viginti verbera; Samuel, quia male mentitus est, accipiet triginta." (John, because he has lied well, shall have twenty lashes; Samuel, because he has lied badly, shall have thirty.)

The two lads gave themselves up to weeping and howling and wiping away the tears with their fists; but in secret, while the Abbot turned away, they winked at each other slily, and this meant, I'll not strike hard, if you won't. But the Abbot had eyes that could see without looking.

"Peter," he said to the working monk who had just finished his cleaning, "come here."

Peter obeyed. "Take these two delinquents in charge; they would handle each other with sly consideration, and avoid their punishment, your hand will let the rods fall more heavily;" and he handed him a bundle of birch rods, dipped in salt water.

Now the two lads began to howl lustily and to crawl about on their knees, in their fear. But Peter did not reach out his hand for the bundle of rods. The demon of pride had stirred his blood to insurrection; his countenance glowed; his eyes blazed; he tossed back the lock of hair from his brow, clenched his fists, and advanced one foot. He emboldened himself to speak, although he had not been questioned. "I am no hangman's slave, I never learned to beat men with a besom; lock up the culprits, and I will do their work as long as they are confined, but I do not like to whip boys."

"Petre!" said the Abbot in even tones, "Putasve quod adhuc sis dux equitum nobilium? Es servus servorum." (Do you think you are still at the head of noble knights? You are the slave of slaves.) And in order to let him feel how completely he was under the rod, he laid the bundle of sticks on the head of the defiant youth. Under this frightful burden, the uplifted head gradually sank and the lids closed over the blazing eyes. He unclenched his fists and crossed them on his breast. The handsome knight was changed again to the humble monk. He reached tremblingly for the bundle of rods, which he raised to his speechless lips:

"Parce, pater." (Spare me, father.)

But as he laid hold of the instrument of shame, whose work it is to disgrace that masterpiece of creation, man; to reduce to an animal him whom God had created in his own likeness, then once again his pride reasserted itself; he raised that noble hand, accustomed to grasp the sword hilt, whose greatest pleasure was to cut through with sharp steel helmet and armor; and which was now compelled with a jailer's scourge to belabor the bare skin of unmannerly clowns.

He was only a novice, and had not yet learned that there are seventy-seven devils in the body, and that the body receives as many blows as there are devils. He had learned that we must regard the nail-studded belt and the hooked lash as our benefactors, and that to scourge the body at night until the blood flowed was an equivalent for a day of prayer. But to beat howling students was still a horror to him. Soon he will become accustomed to that too. At this moment was heard in the hall the voice of the Prior. "Petre ad me tendas." ("Peter, come to me.") Peter sighed with lightened heart and handed back the bunch of rods to the Abbot. "The Prior calls me."

"He commands you; hasten to him."

Peter wanted to lay aside his wet cowl and put on his coarse sandals. "Go just as you are," said the Abbot, "either you will come back here barefooted, or you will go hence in another garb."

The Jesuit Brother dared not inquire concerning what he did not understand, he knew only to obey, so Peter went barefooted to the Prior.

"Dearly beloved son," said the Prior to him, "it is now two years that you have practised obedience. You have learned to be poor, to beg, to take care of the sick, and to do the work of a day laborer. You have six years yet, before you can be numbered among the fathers. Three years you must pass in the library, must learn Saint Augustine by heart, and also the Turkish, Arabic, Greek, and Russian languages; for it is possible that when you are through your studies you may be sent into the desert of Arabia to convert the heathen, or to Russia to encourage to steadfastness the faithful of the Church who are persecuted by Ivan the Terrible. So then you must spend three years among your books, keeping awake night and day, and forcing your way into learning as yet unknown to you. The next three years, you must wander about among hostile peoples, where crucified martyrs and impaled saints will mark your way. The seventh year, you must make a pilgrimage into Spain to endure the test of your fidelity. If you endure all these tests, and all these temptations, then may you be numbered among the fathers. All this long way you can put behind you with one step, and out of all this learning you need only the one word, I will. This day you may lay down your novitiate, and tomorrow arise Father Peter, if you will voluntarily and obediently undertake this mission. Read!" And he handed him the letter of the Patroness.

When the young monk glanced at the hand-writing, (he must have known it before) his whole countenance expressed sudden horror; he held the letter in his hand as if afraid to read it; then he took it, and as he read, his brow wrinkled, his face expressed contempt, and through his open lips, one could see his tightly closed teeth. He read the letter through and let his hand fall listlessly.

"We have chosen you," said the Prior. "To-morrow you will become Father Peter, and need only to say, 'I will'."

The youth looked steadfastly at the ground.

"Have you become speechless?"

The youth raised his head; his face had regained its manly calm. "Give me time for consideration, my father," he said, with a sweetly ringing voice, in which was heard the sincere vibration of a naive nature. "Let me compare the beginning and the end of this course. Surely it is not so far for me to the desert of Bab-el-Mandeb, or to the ice-sea of Siberia, as from the threshold of this monastery to the gate of the Madocsany castle. Neither the raging of Ivan the Terrible at his gory banquets, nor the nightly howl of the hyena, prowling after the dead through the desert of sand, is to me so terrible as one whisper of this woman. More rapidly can I learn Turkish and Arabic, Greek and Russian, and, if necessary, Sanskrit and Mongolian, than the one word, 'I