Then they talked of the future. Hubert disclosed all his plans to Martin; how he must visit the castle at Fievrault; how he must seek and carry the sword of the knight whom his father had slain and lay it on the Holy Sepulchre; how then he hoped to return, but not till he had dyed the sword in the blood of the Paynim, etc. And Martin told his plans for a mission in the Andredsweald; of his hope to reclaim the outlaws to Christianity, and to pacify the forests; to reunite the lords of Norman descent and the Saxon peasants together in one common love. “Shall you visit Walderne Castle?” inquired Hubert. “It may fall to my lot to do so.” “Avoid Drogo; at least do not trust him. He hates us both.” “He may have mended.” Hubert shook his head. A few warm, affectionate words, and they came to the spot where their road divided—the one to the northeast, the other to the southeast. They tried to preserve the proper self control, but it failed them, and their eyes were very limpid. So they parted. At midday the two friars rested in a sweet glade, and slept after a frugal meal, till the birds awoke them with their songs. “They remind me of an incident in the life of our dear father Francis,” said Ginepro, “which my father witnessed.” “Tell it as we go. Sweet converse shortens the toil of the way.” “Once, when he was preaching, the birds drowned his voice with their songs of gladness, whereupon he said: “‘My sisters, the birds, it is now my turn to speak. You have sung your sweet songs to God. Now let me tell men how good He is.’ “And the birds were silent.” “I can quite believe it.” “His power over animals was wonderful. Once a little hare was brought in, all alive, for the food of the brotherhood, and they were just going to kill the wee thing, when Francis came in and pitied it. “‘Little brother leveret,’ he said. ‘How didst thou let thyself be taken?’ “The poor hare rushed from the hands of him who held it, and took refuge in the robe of the father. “‘Nay, go back to thy home, and do not let thyself be caught again,’ he said, and they took it back to the woods and let it go.” Just at this point they reached Chiddinglye, and as they emerged from the forest on the green, Ginepro spied a number of children playing at seesaw in a timber yard, laughing and shouting merrily. Instantly he cried, “Oh, there they are; I love seesaw; I must go and have a turn.” “Are we not too old for such sport?” said Martin. “Not a bit. I feel quite like a child,” and off he ran to join the children amidst the laughter of a few older people.