First of all, they had not been reclaimed to Byfield. It is true they had been traced, and Meinhold had been "interviewed"; but so earnestly had both he and the boys pleaded that they might be allowed to remain where they were, that assent was willingly given, even Father Ambrose feeling that it was for the best; only an assurance was required that they would not stray from the neighbourhood of the cell, and it was readily given.
Of course their father was informed, and he made no opposition,—the poor boys were dead to him and the world. Leprosy was incurable: if they were happy—"let them be."
So they enjoyed the sweet, simple life of the forest. They found playmates in every bird and beast; they learned to read at last; they joined the hermit in the recitation of two at least of the "hours" each day—Lauds and Vespers, the morning and evening offerings of praise. They learned to sing, and chanted Benedictus and Magnificat, as well as the hymns Ecce nunc umbræ and Lucis Creator optime.
"We sing very badly, do we not?"
"Not worse than the brethren of St. Bernard."
"Tell us about them."
"They settled in a wild forest,—about a dozen in number. They could not sing their offices, for they lacked an ear for music; but they said God should at least be honoured by the Magnificat in song; so they did their best, although it is said they frightened the very birds away.
"Now one day a wandering boy, the son of a minstrel, came that way and craved hospitality. He joined them at Vespers, and when they came to the Magnificat, he took up the strain and sang it so sweetly that the birds all came back and listened, entranced; and the old monks were silent lest they should spoil so sweet a chant with their croaking and nasal tones.
"That evening an Angel flew straight from Heaven and came to the prior.