Greatly the brethren wondered, as they trooped in from the fields, or from their cells, where some were meditating and some sleeping, at the summons.
Into the chapel they filed, old and young, Brother Marcus looking as if half in a trance, Brother Rufus curious as a school-boy, each asking of his companions, "What can this mean?"
Brother All-Work, seated wearily on the kitchen door-step for a moment's rest, watched them wistfully. He would have liked to follow, but the cook would want him presently. He arose, adjusted his crutches, and, with a longing look at the white chapel with the purple tree-shadows wavering across its walls, went indoors.
Brother Trophimus had been the last to enter, and, looking back at the moment, had caught the scullion's glance.
He hesitated. Was Brother All-Work included in the Abbot's order? Surely not. As he questioned with himself, the
