THE FRIAR AND THE BOY
ceased piping, but only to laugh; for he had small pity for the Friar.
'Friend Jack!' cried the Friar, gathering himself up, 'forbear, I pray you. I am nigh to death. Permit me to depart and I will be your friend for ever.'
'Get up and go, then,' cried Jack, 'before I begin to play again.'
The good Friar needed no further permission. What remnant of a robe was left him he gathered up, and fled to his own home. There he clothed himself decently and made all haste to Jack's parents.
When they saw his woebegone countenance they questioned him closely.
'I have been with your son,' he replied. 'Grammercy! By these scratches on my face, and by others you cannot see, he is in league with the Evil One, or I am no holy Friar. He played a tune on his pipe and I danced—danced I—think of it! And all in the bramble bushes! Your son is plainly lost; I hesitate to think what it will cost you to save his soul from the devil's clutch.'
'Here is a fine thing,' exclaimed the wife, turning to her husband. 'This your son has nearly killed the holy Father!'
'Benedicite!' said the good man fervently, and the Friar wondered for a moment what he meant exactly.
When Jack returned home his father at once asked him what he had been doing. He replied that he had been having a merry time with the good Friar, who was so fond of music that he could dance to it anywhere—among bramble bushes for preference. These saints, of course——
'But what music is this you play?' broke in his father, who was growing vastly interested. 'I should like to hear it.'
'Heaven forfend!' cried the Friar, getting uneasy.
'Yes, yes; I should like to hear it,' persisted his father.
'Then, if that is so, and you must hear his accursed tune, I beg that you will bind me to the door-post so that I cannot move. I have had more than enough of it.'
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