self be a material thing, even as the book is. have i

expressed it? do i make it plain?"

"whereas i hold," shouted the other, "with my revered preceptor,

doctor, preclarus et excellentissimus, that all things are but

thought; for when thought is gone i prythee where are the things

then? here are trees about us, and i see them because i think i

see them, but if i have swooned, or sleep, or am in wine, then,

my thought having gone forth from me, lo the trees go forth also.

how now, coz, have i touched thee on the raw?"

alleyne sat between them munching his bread, while the twain

disputed across his knees, leaning forward with flushed faces and

darting hands, in all the heat of argument. never had he heard

such jargon of scholastic philosophy, such fine-drawn

distinctions, such cross-fire of major and minor, proposition,

syllogism, attack and refutation. question clattered upon answer

like a sword on a buckler. the ancients, the fathers of the

church, the moderns, the scriptures, the arabians, were each sent

hurtling against the other, while the rain still dripped and the

dark holly-leaves glistened with the moisture. at last the fat

man seemed to weary of it, for he set to work quietly upon his

meal, while his opponent, as proud as the rooster who is left

unchallenged upon the midden, crowed away in a last long burst of

quotation and deduction. suddenly, however, his eyes dropped

upon his food, and he gave a howl of dismay.

"you double thief!" he cried, "you have eaten my herrings, and i

without bite or sup since morning."

"that," quoth the other complacently, "was my final argument, my

crowning effort, or peroratio, as the orators have it. for, coz,

since all thoughts are things, you have but to think a pair of

herrings, and then conjure up a pottle of milk wherewith to wash

them down."

"a brave piece of reasoning," cried the other, "and i know of but

one reply to it." on which, leaning forward, he caught his

comrade a rousing smack across his rosy cheek. "nay, take it not

amiss," he said, "since all things are but thoughts, then that

also is but a thought and may be disregarded."

this last argument, however, by no means commended itself to the

pupil of ockham, who plucked a great stick from the ground and

signified his dissent by smiting the realist over the pate with

it. by good fortune, the wood was so light and rotten that it

went to a thousand splinters, but alleyne thought it best to

leave the twain to settle the matter at their leisure, the more

so as the sun was shining brightly once more. looking back down

the pool-strewn road, he saw the two excited philosophers waving

their hands and shouting at each other, but their babble soon

became a mere drone in the distance, and a turn in the road hid

them from his sight.

and now after passing holmesley walk and the wooton heath, the

forest began to shred out into scattered belts of trees, with

gleam of corn-field and stretch of pasture-land between. here

and there by the wayside stood little knots of wattle-and-daub

huts with shock-haired laborers lounging by the doors and red-

cheeked children sprawling in the roadway. back among the groves

he could see the high gable ends and thatched roofs of the

franklin's houses, on whose fields these men found employment, or

more often a thick dark column of smoke marked their position and

hinted at the coarse plenty within. by these signs alleyne knew

that he was on the very fringe of the forest, and therefore no

great way from christchurch. the sun was lying low in the west

and shooting its level rays across the long sweep of rich green

country, glinting on the white-fleeced sheep and throwing long

shadows from the red kine who waded knee-deep in the juicy

clover. right glad was the traveller to see the high tower of

christchurch priory gleaming in the mellow evening light, and

gladder still when, on rounding a corner, he came upon his

comrades of the morning seated astraddle upon a fallen tree.

they had a flat space before them, on which they alternately

threw little square pieces of bone, and were so intent upon

their occupation that they never raised eye as he approached

them. he observed with astonishment, as he drew near, that the

archer's bow was on john's back, the archer's sword by john's

side, and the steel cap laid upon the tree-trunk between them.

"mort de ma vie!" aylward shouted, looking down at the dice.

"never had i such cursed luck. a murrain on the bones! i have

not thrown a good main since i left navarre. a one and a three!

en avant, camarade!"

"four and three," cried hordle john, counting on his great

fingers, "that makes seven. ho, archer, i have thy cap! now

have at thee for thy jerkin!"

"mon dieu!" he growled, "i am like to reach christchurch in my

shirt." then suddenly glancing up,