Amador ledger., 1906-06-29

InlSlSdu you. whenever OHe Oh lnem
advises you to take loose grocery store
then, with lighter heart and a. stouter
courage that the young man turned
from the Abbot's room, while the lat
ter, following him to the stair-head,
finally commended him to the protec-
tion of the holy Julian, patron of trav-
ellers.
Underneath, in the porch Of the Alb
bey, the monks had gathered to give
him a last God-speed. Many had
brought some parting token by which
he should remember them. There was
Brother Bartholomew with a crucifix
of rare carved ivory, and Brother
Luke with a white-backed psalter
adorned with golden bees, and Brother
Francis with the "Slayil s, of The Inno-
cents" most daintily -et 4crth upon
away deep in the travellers scrip, and
above them old pippin-faced Brother
Athanasius had placed a parcel Of
simnel bread and rammel cheese, with
a small flask of the famous blue-sealed
Abbey wine. So, amid handshakings
and laughings and blessings, Alleyne
Edricson turned his back upon Beau
lieu.
At the turn of the road he stopped
and gazed back. There was the wide.
spread building which he knew so well,
the Abbot's house, the long church, the
cloisters with their line of arches, all
bathed and mellowed in the evening
sun. There too was the broad sweep
of the river Exc, the old stone well,
the canopied niche of the Virgin, and
in the centre of II, the cluster of
white-robed figures who waved their
hands to him. A sudden mist swan
up before the young mans eyes, and
he turned away upon his journey with
a heavy heart and a choking throat.
1t is not, however, in the nature Of
things that a lad of twenty, with
young life glowing in his veins and all
the wide world before him, should
spend his first hours Of freedom in
mourning of what he had left. Long
ere Alleyne was out Of sound of the
Beaulieu bells he was striding sturdily
along, swinging his staff and whistline
as merrily as the birds in the thicket.
The road along which he travelled
was scarce as populous as most other
roads in the kingdom, and far less so
than those which lie between the
larger towns. Yet from time to time
the boy met other wayfarers, and
more tnan once was overtaken by
strings of pack-mules and horsemen
journeying in the same direction as
himself.
The night had already fallen, and the
moon was shining between the riffs
Of ragged, drifting clouds, before Al
leyne Edricson, footsore and weary
from the unwonted exercise found
himself in front of the forest inn, which
stood upon the outskirts of Lyndhurst.
The building was long and low, stand.
ing back a little from the road, with
two flambeauX blazing on either side
of the door as welcome to the tray-
eller. From one window there thrust
forth long pole with a bunch of
greenery tied to the end of it-a SIGN
that liquor was to be sod within. As
Alleyne walked up to it he perceived
that it was rudely fashioned out of
beams of wood, with twinkling hts
all over where the glow from " hin
shone through the chirks. The roof
was poor and thatched; but in strange
contrast to it there ran all along under
the caves a line Of wooden shields,
most gorgeously painted with chew
ron. bend, and satire and every
heraldic device. By the door a horse
stood tethered, the ruddy glow beating
strongly upon his brown head and pa
tient eyes, while his body stood back
in the shadow.
Alleyne stood still in the roadway forI
a few minutes, rejecting upon what
he should do. 1t was, he knew, only al
few miles further to Minstead, whereI
his brother dwelt. On the other hand,
he had never seen this brother sincel
childhood, and the reports which had
come to his ears concerning him were
seldom to his advantage. By all ac-
counts he was hard and a bitter man.
1t might be an evil start to come to
his door so late and, claim the shelter
of his roof Better to sleep here at
this inn, and then travel on to Min
stead in the morning. If his brother
would take him in, well and good. He
would bide with him for a time and
do what he might to serve him. If, onl
the other hand, he should have hard
ened his heart against him, he could
only go on his way and do the best he
might by his skill as a craftsman and
a scrivener. At the end of a year he
would be free to return to the cloisters,
for such had been his fathers request. |
A monkish upbringing, one year in
the world after the age of twenty, and
then a free selection one way or the
Other-it was a strange course which |
had been marked out for him. Such
as it was, however, he had no choice |
but to follow it, and If he were to |
begin by making a friend Of his |
brother, he had best wait until MORN |
ing before he knocked at his dwelling. |
The rude plank door of the inn was
ajar, but as Alleyne approached it
there came from within such gust of
rough laughter and cater of tongues
that he stood irresolute upon the
threshold Summoning- courage, how
ever, and rejecting that it was a pub
lie dwelling, in which he had as much
right as any other man, he pushed it |
open and stepped into the common
room.
(To be Continued Neat Week)