monks, seeing that he was so helpless and slow as they saw him to be.
"Well, well, man," said the Abbot, "if thy legs be faulty, thou hast hands; and if thy heart be willing, it will set them to work. So get thee to the kitchen and do thy best. We will give thee a week's trial."
The poor lame scullion suited his employers so well that at the end of the week he was asked to stay with them as long as he liked. Brother Rufus, who was of a merry turn called him "Brother All-Work," because he was so willing to oblige and to take the tasks of others upon himself.
As time went on, the monks forgot that Brother All-Work had ever been a stranger. His patient face was always bright, his crutches carried him on a dozen errands in an hour; his poor, worn hands were at everybody's service, and everybody seemed to want some service of them.
It was a marvel how they had ever managed without him.
