“’Twas God’s loving-kindness towards us that, seeing how our hearts are drawn asunder, He came down and dwelt among us, that He might taste in the flesh the lures of the devil when he decoys us with power and splendour, as well as the menace of the world when it offers us blows and scorn and sharp nails in hands and feet. In such wise did He show us the way and make manifest His love—” He looked down upon the child’s grave, set face—then he laughed a little and said with quite another voice: “Do you know who ’twas that first knew our Lord had caused himself to be born? ’Twas the cock; he saw the star and so he said—all the beasts could talk Latin in those days; he cried: ‘Christus natus est!’” He crowed these last words so like a cock that Kristin fell to laughing heartily. And it did her good to laugh, for all the strange things Brother Edwin had just been saying had laid a burden of awe on her heart. The monk laughed himself: “Aye, and when the ox heard that, he began to low: ‘Ubi, ubi, ubi.’ “But the goat bleated and said: ‘Betlem, Betlem, Betlem!’ “And the sheep longed so to see Our Lady and her Son that she baa-ed out at once: ‘Eamus, eamus!’ “And the new-born calf that lay in the straw, raised itself and stood upon its feet. ‘Volo, volo, volo!’ it said. “You never heard that before? No, I can believe it; I know that he is a worthy priest, that Sira Eirik that you have up in your parts, and learned; but he knows not this, I warrant; for a man does not learn it except he journey to Paris—” “Have _you_ been to Paris then?” asked the child. “God bless you, little Kristin, I have been in Paris and have travelled round elsewhere in the world as well; and you must not believe aught else than that I am afraid of the devil, and love and covet like any other fool. But I hold fast to the Cross with all my might—one must cling to it like a kitten to a lath when it has fallen in the sea— “And you, Kristin—how would you like to offer up this bonny hair and serve Our Lady like these brides I have figured here?” “We have no child at home but me,” answered Kristin. “So ’tis like that I must marry. And I trow mother has chests and lockers with my bridal gear standing ready even now.” “Aye, aye,” said Brother Edwin, and stroked her forehead. “’Tis thus that folk deal with their children now. To God they give the daughters who are lame or purblind or ugly or blemished, or they let Him have back the children when they deem Him to have given them more than they need. And then they wonder that all who dwell in the cloisters are not holy men and maids—” * * * * * Brother Edwin took her into the sacristy and showed her the cloister books which stood there in a book-case; there were the fairest pictures in them. But when one of the monks came in, Brother Edwin made as though he were but seeking an ass’s head to copy. Afterward he shook his head at himself: