The Armourers Prentices | Page 8

trained, for difficulties to arise as to leading a

dog through the Forest. Should they ever come to the term of the Forest?
It was not easy to tell when they were really beyond it, for the ground
was much of the same kind. Only the smooth, treeless hills, where they
had always been told Winchester lay, seemed more defined; and they
saw no more deer, but here and there were inclosures where wheat and
barley were growing, and black timbered farm-houses began to show
themselves at intervals. Herd boys, as rough and unkempt as their
charges, could be seen looking after little tawny cows, black-faced
sheep, or spotted pigs, with curs which barked fiercely at poor weary
Spring, even as their masters were more disposed to throw stones than
to answer questions.
By and by, on the further side of a green valley, could be seen buildings
with an encircling wall of flint and mortar faced with ruddy brick, the
dark red-tiled roofs rising among walnut-trees, and an orchard in full
bloom spreading into a long green field.
"Winchester must be nigh. The sun is getting low," said Stephen.
"We will ask. The good folk will at least give us an answer," said
Ambrose wearily.
As they reached the gate, a team of plough horses was passing in led by
a peasant lad, while a lay brother, with his gown tucked up, rode
sideways on one, whistling. An Augustinian monk, ruddy, burly, and
sunburnt, stood in the farm-yard, to receive an account of the day's
work, and doffing his cap, Ambrose asked whether Winchester were
near.
"Three mile or thereaway, my good lad," said the monk; "thou'lt see the
towers an ye mount the hill. Whence art thou?" he added, looking at the
two young strangers. "Scholars? The College elects not yet a while."
"We be from the Forest, so please your reverence," and are bound for
Hyde Abbey, where our uncle, Master Richard Birkenholt, dwells."
"And oh, sir," added Stephen, "may we crave a drop of water for our
dog?"

The monk smiled as he looked at Spring, who had flung himself down
to take advantage of the halt, hanging out his tongue, and panting
spasmodically. "A noble beast," he said, "of the Windsor breed, is't
not?" Then laying his hand on the graceful head, "Poor old hound, thou
art o'er travelled. He is aged for such a journey, if you came from the
Forest since morn. Twelve years at the least, I should say, by his
muzzle."
"Your reverence is right," said Stephen, "he is twelve years old. He is
two years younger than I am, and my father gave him to me when he
was a little whelp."
"So thou must needs take him to seek thy fortune with thee," said the
good-natured Augustinian, not knowing how truly he spoke. "Come in,
my lads, here's a drink for him. What said you was your uncle's name?"
and as Ambrose repeated it, "Birkenholt! Living on a corrody at Hyde!
Ay! ay! My lads, I have a call to Winchester to-morrow, you'd best
tarry the night here at Silkstede Grange, and fare forward with me."
The tired boys were heartily glad to accept the invitation, more
especially as Spring, happy as he was with the trough of water before
him, seemed almost too tired to stand over it, and after the first, tried to
lap, lying down. Silkstede was not a regular convent, only a grange or
farm-house, presided over by one of the monks, with three or four lay
brethren under him, and a little colony of hinds, in the surrounding
cottages, to cultivate the farm, and tend a few cattle and numerous
sheep, the special care of the Augustinians.
Father Shoveller, as the good-natured monk who had received the
travellers was called, took them into the spacious but homely chamber
which served as refectory, kitchen, and hall. He called to the lay brother
who was busy over the open hearth to fry a few more rashers of bacon;
and after they had washed away the dust of their journey at the trough
where Spring had slaked his thirst, they sat down with him to a hearty
supper, which smacked more of the grange than of the monastery,
spread on a large solid oak table, and washed down with good ale. The
repast was shared by the lay brethren and farm servants, and also by
two or three big sheep dogs, who had to be taught their manners

towards Spring.
There was none of the formality that Ambrose was accustomed to at
Beaulieu in the great refectory, where no one spoke, but one of the
brethren read aloud some theological book from a stone pulpit in the
wall. Here Brother Shoveller conversed without stint, chiefly with the
brother who seemed