Besides the increase of numbers there had been considerable additions made to the fabric of the Abbey, if such a word as fabric may be applied to matchboard, felt, and corrugated iron.  Mention has already been made of the new Guest-house, which accommodated not only soldiers invited to spend their furloughs at the Abbey, but also tramps who sought a night’s lodging.  Mark, as Porter, found his time considerably taken up with these casuals, because as soon as the news spread of a comfortable lodging they came begging for shelter in greater numbers than had been anticipated.  A rule was made that they should pay for their entertainment by doing a day’s work, and it was one of Mark’s duties to report on the qualifications of these casuals to Brother George, whose whole life was occupied with the farm that he was creating out of those derelict fields.

“There’s a black man just arrived, Reverend Brother.  He says he lost his ship at Southampton through a boiler explosion, and is tramping to Cardiff,” Mark would report.

“Can he plough a straight furrow?” the Prior would demand.

“I doubt it,” Mark would answer with a smile.  “He can’t walk straight across the dormitory.”

“What’s he been drinking?”

“Rum, I fancy.”

“Why did you let him in?”

“It’s such a stormy night.”

“Well, send him along to me to-morrow after Lauds, and I’ll put him to cleaning out the pigsties.”

Mark only had to deal with these casuals.  Regular guests like the soldiers, who were always welcome, and ecclesiastically minded inquirers were looked after by Brother Nicholas.  One of the things for which Mark detested Brother Nicholas was the habit he had of showing off his poor casuals to the paying guests.  It took Mark a stern reading of St. Benedict’s Rule and the observations therein upon humility and obedience not to be rude to Brother Nicholas sometimes.

“Brother,” he asked one day.  “Have you ever read what our Holy Father says about gyrovagues and sarabaites?”

Brother Nicholas, who always thought that any long word with which he was unfamiliar referred to sexual perversion, asked what such people were.

“You evidently haven’t,” said Mark.  “Our Holy Father disapproves of them.”

“Oh, so should I, Brother Mark,” said Brother Nicholas quickly.  “I hate anything like that.”

“It struck me,” Mark went on, “that most of our paying guests are gyrovagues and sarabaites.”

“What an accusation to make,” said Brother Nicholas, flushing with expectant curiosity and looking down his long nose to give the impression that it was the blush of innocence and modesty.

When, an hour or so later, he had had leisure to discover the meaning of both terms, he came up to Mark and exclaimed: 

“Oh, brother, how could you?”

“How could I what?” Mark asked.

“How could you let me think that it meant something much worse?  Why, it’s nothing really.  Just wandering monks.”