“You fetched it from the stream yonder,” said the Abbot, knowing Thorn Wood well, every inch on it. “Methinks ’twere simpler matter to carry the child to the stream than bring the stream to the child. In the first case we can be more lavish with our restorative.” Peregrine laughed. “You speak very truly,” quoth he. The Abbot picked up the fainting boy from the ground, lifting him as though he lifted a mere featherweight, and straightway made off in strides among the trees, Peregrine following in his wake. Down by the water,—a narrow silver stream flowing among ferns and mosses,—they laved the boy’s temples and wrists, got drops between his lips. Anon he came to himself, sat up somewhat feebly. “I will come on the instant,” he cried faintly, his mind back at the place he had left. “Tut, tut,” spoke Peregrine soothingly, “never trouble yourself, child. There’s no more coming and going for you at that scoundrel’s bidding.” “Ah, I forgot,” cried the boy fetching a deep breath of relief. “Who else is here?” he asked on a sudden. “Rightly speaking,” said Peregrine smiling at the Abbot, “I know not myself. But assuredly ’tis one who has befriended you very well.” The Abbot laughed, big-voiced and hearty. “I am one Hilary at your service, Abbot of Dieuporte,” said he. “Methinks ’twere well you both accompanied me thither, that this child may there gain rest from evident over-fatigue.” This proposal fell well enough on Peregrine’s ears as far as it concerned the boy. For his own part he had yet further to travel, though he was willing enough to accompany them to the place, wherever it might chance to be. Keeping his own plans silent for the moment, however, he acceded readily enough to the Abbot’s suggestion. Picking up the boy again, the Abbot led the way back to his horse. “Do you mount,” said he to Peregrine, “and take the lad before you. Methinks you, too, have done walking enough for the present.” Here Peregrine demurred somewhat, being loth to take such summary possession of the other’s horse; but the Abbot pressed his point. Presently mounted they moved on at walking pace among the trees. Lulled by the movement the boy fell asleep, lying snug in Peregrine’s arms. “An’ it be not impertinence,” said the Abbot, “might I ask whither you two were faring when I chanced on you?” “’Tis no impertinence,” laughed Peregrine, “yet it is a question to which I can find no answer, since truly I knew not myself.” “Hmm!” mused the Abbot, drawing down his eyebrows. Peregrine, seeing the boy sleeping, now began to talk more openly.