a layman should so speak him. Be mannerly, my friend, and conclude the holy man only rapt in meditation, which makes the head dizzy and foot unsteady, as if the stomach were filled with new wine—I have felt it myself."
"Well then," answered Father Dennet, "a holy brother came to visit the Sacristan at Saint Edmund's—a sort of a hedge-priest is the visitor, and kills half the deer that are stolen in the forest, who loves the tinkling of a pint-pot better than the sacring-bell, and deems a flitch of bacon worth ten of his breviary; for the rest, a good fellow and a merry, who will flourish a quarter-staff, draw a bow, and dance a Cheshire round with e'er a man in Yorkshire."
"That last part of thy speech, Dennet," said the Minstrel, "has saved thee a rib or twain."
"Tush, man, I fear him not," said Dennet; "I am somewhat old and stiff, but when I fought for the bell and ram at Doncaster"——
"But the story—the story, my friend," again said the Minstrel.
"Why, the tale is but this—Athelstane of Conningsburgh was buried at Saint Edmund's."
