"But a man of your cloth" Edgar began.
"A fico for my cloth!" answered the Friar. "I am a student, not a priest. A lover of books must hide under the cowl if he would be free of the helmet. Besides, the books are in the cloisters, and the scholar must be where his food grows, as birds follow the berries southward."
"Welcome, then, good Friar," said Edgar heartily. "A head can often do more in warfare than a lance or battle-ax." Seeing Hugh passing, Edgar called him, and handed over the Friar to the old soldier's keeping, asking as he did so: "What is your name, Franciscan?"
"Roger Bacon," was the answer, and then he followed Hugh, who saw him safely bestowed in a little turret-room that looked over the river. Friar Bacon's face brightened as he surveyed these quarters, meagerly though they were furnished. He seemed especially pleased that there was a fireplace in the corner, and a cupboard opposite. Hugh watched the Friar closely, but was evidently pleased with his behavior, for he called a page and sent the boy for some bread, meat, and wine.
That afternoon the Friar, who seemed about fifty-five years old, walked down to the village and returned with a large bag full of various odd contrivances which he installed about his little cell. With him was a farmer's lad bearing a large
