“My children do grow a little fractious at times,” quoth he, “as is but natural, methinks.  Yonder you shall hear Orson and Jenkyn, who having saved each other’s life in battle and loving like brothers, do oft contend together with tongues most ungentle; go you, my son, and quiet me the naughty rogues.”

So saying, Friar Martin fell to washing and preparing his herbs and vegetables whiles Beltane, hasting down the passage, opened a certain door and entered a cool and airy dormitory, where upon pallets neat and orderly lay divers fellows whose hurts were swathed in fair white linen, and who, despite their bandages, started up on hand or elbow to greet Beltane right gladly.  And behold! beside each man’s couch was a bowl wherein roses bloomed.

“Master,” quoth Tall Orson, “us do be glad to see thee—­in especial me—­ and Jenkyn that I did save the carcase of and as do be a liar as do say my roses do be a-fading, master, and as his roses do bloom fairer than my roses and—­”

“And look’ee master, so they be, for I ha’ watered mine wi’ Orson’s drinking-water, while he snored, look’ee—­” “So Jenkyn do be thief as well, master—­”

“Nay,” said Beltane smiling, and seating himself on Orson’s bed, “stint now your angers and tell me who gave ye flowers so fair?”

“Master, she do be an angel!”

“Heed him not, lord, for look’ee, she is a fair and lovely woman, and look’ee, a good woman is better than an angel, look’ee!”

“And what like is she?” questioned Beltane.

“She do be like to a stag for grace o’ body, and wi’ the eyes of a stag—­”

“Nay, master, her eyes do be maid’s eyes, look’ee, very soft and sweet, and her hair, look’ee—­”

“Her hair do be like a forest-pool brim-full o’ sunset—­”

“Not so, master, her hair is red, look’ee—­”

“And each day she do bring us flowers, master—­”

“And suckets, look’ee, very sweet and delicate, master.”

In a while Beltane arose and going from bed to bed spake with each and every, and went his way, leaving Orson and Jenkyn to their recriminations.

Being come back into the refectory, he found Friar Martin yet busied with the preparations of his cooking, and seating himself upon the great table hard by, fell to a profound meditation, watched ever and anon by the friar’s kindly eyes:  so very silent and thoughtful was he that the friar presently looked up from slicing and cutting his vegetables and spake with smile wondrous tender: 

“Wherefore so pensive, my son?”

“Good father, I think and dream of—­red roses!”

Friar Martin cut and trimmed a leek with great care, yet surely here was no reason for his eyes to twinkle within the shadow of his white cowl.

“A sweet and fragrant thought, my son!” quoth he.

“As sweet, methinks, holy father, as pure and fragrant as she herself!”

“‘She,’ my son?”