The sun was already near its setting when they joined the main road leading up to the monastery from the valley, and they struck into a train of some half-dozen mules covered and enveloped in loads of reeds, the tops of which brushed rustling along the ground behind like some court lady's dress. Two of the monks from the monastery were in charge of these, and when they saw who it was with Nicholas they stopped and kissed the archbishop's hands. As they moved forward again he said:
"I see you are carrying reeds, my sons. From where did they come, and for what purpose?"
"From Kalavryta, father," said one. "We have six mules laden with them. The monastery roof needs mending."
"That is good. Observe, Nicholas, how fine these reeds are. They seem to be a heavy load. The monastery roof, they say, wants mending."
The younger of the two monks smiled.
"A great many things want mending, father!" he said. "We are making preparations for mending them."
Nicholas, who was in front, checked his mule.
"And have you black corn," he said, "good black corn for the Turk?"
The monk shook his head.
"I do not understand," he said.