The guest-master’s first office was to see that the guest-house was always ready for the arrival of any visitor. He was to make certain that there was a supply of straw sufficient for the beds; that the basins and jugs were clean inside and out; that the floors were well swept and spread with rushes; that the furniture was properly dusted, and that, in a word, the whole house was kept free from cobwebs and from every speck of dirt. Before the coming of an expected guest the master was personally to inspect the chamber set apart for him; to see that there was a light prepared for him should he need it; that the fire did not smoke; and that writing materials were at hand in case they were required. Moreover, he was to ascertain that all things were ready in the common rooms for his entertainment. When it was necessary to procure something that was needful, the master could enter the kitchen, which was, of course, otherwise out of the enclosure for the monks generally. He was to get coal and wood and straw from the cellarer; the cups, platters, and spoons that were required from the refectorian; and the sub-cellarer was to arrange as to the food itself. At Abingdon the guest-master had a special revenue to be spent upon what must have been a source of very considerable expense in those days, the shoeing of the horses of travellers generally who came to the abbey, and especially of those belonging to religious and to poor pilgrims. People also at various times left small bequests for this as for other monastic charities. In the same abbey, the guest-master had also a small yearly sum, charged on a house in the town, which had been left by “Thurstin the tailor,” to help to entertain poor travellers, as a memorial of the day when he and his wife had been received into the fraternity of the monastery. When word was brought to the guest-master of the arrival of a guest, he was charged forthwith to leave whatever he was about, and to go at once to receive him, as he would Christ Himself. He was to assure him--especially if he were a stranger--of the monastic hospitality, and endeavour from the first to place him at his ease. He was to remember what he would wish to be done in his own regard under similar circumstances, and what he would desire to be done to himself he was to do to all guests. “By showing this cheerful hospitality to guests,” says one English Custumal, “the good name of the monastery is enhanced, friendships are multiplied, enmities are lessened, God is honoured, charity is increased, and a plenteous reward in heaven is secured.” The whole principle of religious hospitality, as practised in a mediæval monastery, is really summed up in the words of St. Benedict’s Rule: _Hospites tamquam Christus suscipiantur_--Guests are to be received as if they were Christ Himself.