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what I had overheard about his stealing cakes from the kitchen.
    “Do you have lessons like everyone else?” I asked.
    He replied that he studied Latin and Greek.
    I told him enthusiastically that I studied with Mr. Brunton and at what stage I had reached.
    “We didn’t come through the door in the wall to talk of lessons,” complained Kate.
    She rose and turned a somersault on the lawn—she was adept at this and practiced it frequently. Keziah called it wanton behavior. Her object in doing it now, I knew, was to divert attention from me to herself.
    We both looked on at Kate turning somersaults and suddenly she stopped and challenged the boy to join her.
    “It would not be seemly,” he said.
    “Ah.” Kate laughed triumphantly. “You mean you can’t do it?”
    “I could. I could do anything.”
    “Prove it.”
    He appeared to be at a loss for a moment and then I had the strange experience of seeing wayward Kate and the Holy Child turning somersaults on the Abbey grass.
    “Come on, Damask,” she commanded.
    I joined them.
    It was an afternoon to remember. When Kate had proved that she could turn somersaults at a greater speed than either of us, she called a halt and we sat on the grass and talked. We learned a little about the boy, who was called Bruno after the founder of the Abbey. He had never spoken to any other children. He took lessons with Brother Valerian and he learned about plants and herbs from Brother Ambrose. He was often with the Abbot whose house was the Abbot’s Lodging and the Abbot had a servant who was a deaf-mute and as tall as a giant and as strong as a horse.
    “It must be very lonely in an Abbey,” I said.
    “I have the monks. They are like brothers. It is not lonely all the time.”
    “Listen,” said Kate in her commanding way. “We’ll come again. Don’t tell anyone about the door under the ivy. We three shall meet again here. It’ll be our secret.”
    And we did. Any afternoon that we could get away we went through the secret door and very often we were joined by Bruno. It was a strange experience because at times we forgot how he had appeared in the Christmas crib and he seemed just like an ordinary boy, and sometimes we played games together—boisterous games at which Kate scored, but he liked guessing games too and that was when I had a chance. He and I were rivals in that just as he and Kate were at those which involved physical effort. He was always determined though to beat us both—his wits were sharper than mine and he had a physical strength which Kate could not match.
    Of course, I said, it was what was to be expected of a Holy Child.
    Rupert, though not quite fifteen years old, was working more and more in the fields. He could talk knowledgeably with my father of the crops and the animals. He found such joy in the newborn creatures and he liked to share that excitement with others, particularly me. I remember his taking me out to see a recently born foal and pointing out the grace of the creature. Animals knew him and were his friends as soon as they saw him; he had that special gift. He could shear a sheep with greater skill than the shearers; and he always knew the precise moment to start to cut the corn. He could predict the weather and smell rain a day or so off. My father said he was a true man of the soil.
    Haymaking was a happy time; then we would all go into the fields, even Kate rather grudgingly, and then she would begin to enjoy it when the home-brewed ale was brought around and when we rode in on the hay cart. The harvest was the best time though; and when it had been bound and cocked and the poor had finished their gleaning there would be a merry harvest supper. From the kitchens all that day would have come the smell of roasting goose and baking pies. My mother would fill the house with flowers and there would be general excitement everywhere. Kate and I would hang up the miniature corn sheaves which would be kept all through the year to bring good