"Thou hast the black bile, brother," said David. "Laughter is surely given us for good--so are we different from the brute beasts. We must practise austerities for all needful purposes; but I counsel thee that thou endeavour to find joy in all things gay and innocent, and in thine own mishaps, that prove thee human, most of all: so shall such dust-specks not make the sunshine less sweet to thee!" In softer tones, "Lift up thy heart, brother; in a very little while, we shall break our fast. I and my companions will find food enough for us all and to spare." Gildas, raging inarticulately, rushed into the cave where he had spent the night. David turned to the contrite boy, whose cheeks showed traces of tears. "Hast thou seen our Lady's Candle,[9] over yonder by the quarry-side?" said he. "Such altar-light saw I never made by the hand of man. Seek thou it out, for a lovely sight." [9] The great mullein. "Father David," answered the child, "how may that be? Do they not tell us that we must not gratify our senses, for that this world teems with sin most foul?" "That is old nonsense!" cried David. "Has not the Lord made all the earth, and is not His Word indwelling? And, son, remember this--come storm, come drought, come frost, nothing can take our God from us." "Is it true, O my father," asked the boy, wide-eyed, "that once on a time your own cook did try to poison you?" "The poor mad fellow!" said the bishop shortly. "Luckily one of my guests suspected, and so were we one and all saved alive. Go thou draw water, little one, where the brook is deepest: I have need of more." David stirred the broth in the pot, adding his leeks and some sage and pepper which he carried about him. The monks had gone their several ways, in search of wild fruits and pot-herbs. From within the biggest cave came the sound of restless fidgeting. David began to sing: "Hast thou heard the saying of Calwaladr, King of all Britain? The best crooked thing is the crooked handle of a plough." There was a hasty footfall behind and Gildas stood beside him. "Thy pardon, David," he said, very humbly, hanging his head. "Indeed, indeed, I know not why--but I have always a dark humour before breakfast!" "Oh, Gildas, Gildas," cried David, as he wrung both the other's hands. "I am too hot-mettled, I fear, in the early hours!" When they were within an hour's walk of the town of Brefi, David left them and disappeared into the woods. "There will be enough to talk and enough to listen," said he to Aidan. "I feel a great need to pray."