The earl smiled.

“Come, my boy, I forgive thee.

“My good brother of Leicester, the lad is made for a Franciscan; don’t spoil a good friar by making him a warrior.”

“And Franciscan he shall be.

“Say, my boy, wouldst thou like to go to Oxford and study under my worthy friend, Adam de Maresco?”

Martin’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“Oh yes, my lord.

“Thank you, my Lord of Warwick.”

“Thy punishment shall then be exile from the castle; thou may’st cease from the sports of the tilt yard, which thou hast never loved, and Father Edmund shall take thee seriously in hand.”

“Oh, thanks, my lord, O felix dies.”

“See how he takes to Latin, like a duck to the water.

“Hubert, thou must go with him.”

Hubert’s countenance fell.

“Oh no, no, my lord, I want to be a soldier like my father; please don’t send me away.

“Oh, Martin, what a fool thou art!”

“Fool! fie! for shame! thou forgettest in whose company thou art.  Each to his own liking; thou to make food for the sword, Martin perhaps to suffer martyrdom on a gridiron, like Saint Lawrence, amongst the heathen.”

“He is the stuff they make martyrs from,” muttered he of Warwick.

“No, Hubert, you may stay and work out your own destiny, and Martin shall go to Oxford.”

“Oh, Martin, I am so sorry.”

But Martin was rapturous with joy.

And so, more soberly, was another person joyful—­even the chaplain, for he saw the making of a valiant friar of Saint Francis in Martin.  That wondrous saint, Francis of Assisi {10}, whose mission it was to restore to the depraved Christianity of the day an element it seemed losing altogether, that of brotherly love, was an embodiment of the sentiment of a later poet: 

He prayeth best who loveth best,
All things both great and small,
For the dear God, who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

And wondrous was his power over the rudest men and the most savage animals in consequence.  All things loved Francis—­the most timid animals, the most shy birds, all alike flocked around him when he appeared.

The brotherhood he had founded was unlike the monastic orders; its members were not to retire from the world, but to live in it, and devote themselves entirely to the good of mankind; they were to renounce all worldly wealth, and embrace chastity, poverty, and obedience—­theirs was not to be the joy of family life, theirs no settled abode.  Wandering from place to place they were to live solely on the alms of those to whom they preached the gospel of peace.