"Well, the same thing could happen here, that’s what," said the abbot, and resumed his slow padding to and fro. "Last year there was Brother Noyon and his miraculous hangman’s noose. Ha! And the year before that, Brother Smirnov gets mysteriously cured of the gout-how?-by touching a probable relic of our Blessed Leibowitz, the young louts say. And now this Francis, he meets a pilgrim-wearing what?-wearing for a kilt the very burlap cloth they hooded Blessed Leibowitz with before they hanged him. And with what for a belt? A rope. What rope? Ahh, the very same-" He paused, looking at Cheroki. "I can tell by your blank look that you haven’t heard this yet? No? All right, so you can’t say. No, no, Francis didn’t say that. All he said was-" Abbot Arkos tried to inject a slightly falsetto quality into his normally gruff voice. "All Brother Francis said was - ‘I met a little old man, and I thought he was a pilgrim heading for the abbey because he was going that way, and he was wearing an old burlap sack tied around with a piece of rope. And he made a mark on the rock, and the mark looked like this."