SAINT WERBURGH was busy all the rest of that day and early the next
morning too, so she could not get out again to see the prisoned geese.
But when she went to her cell for the morning rest after her work was
done, she sat down by the window and looked out smilingly, thinking to
see her friend Grayking and the others taking their bath in the meadow.
But there were no geese to be seen! Werburgh's face grew grave. And even
as she sat there wondering what had happened, she heard a prodigious
honking overhead, and a flock of geese came straggling down, not in the
usual trim V, but all unevenly and without a leader. Grayking was gone!
They fluttered about crying and asking advice of one another, till they
heard Saint Werburgh's voice calling them anxiously. Then with a cry of
joy they flew straight up to her window and began talking all together,
trying to tell her what had happened.
"Grayking is gone!" they said. "Grayking is stolen by the wicked
Steward. Grayking was taken away when we were set free, and we shall
never see him again. What shall we do, dear lady, without our leader?"
Saint Werburgh was horrified to think that her dear Grayking might be in
danger. Oh, how that wicked Steward had deceived her! She began to feel
angry. Then she turned to the birds: "Dear geese," she said earnestly,
"you have promised me never to steal again, have you not?" and they all
honked "Yes!" "Then I will go and question the Steward," she continued,
"and if he is guilty I will punish him and make him bring Grayking back
to you."
The geese flew away feeling somewhat comforted, and Saint Werburgh sent
speedily for Master Hugh. He came, looking much surprised, for he could
not imagine what she wanted of him. "Where is the gray goose with the
black ring about his neck?" began Saint Werburgh without any preface,
looking at him keenly. He stammered and grew confused. "I--I don't know,
Lady Abbess," he faltered. He had not guessed that she cared especially
about the geese.
"Nay, you know well," said Saint Werburgh, "for I bade you feed them and
set them free this morning. But one is gone."
"A fox must have stolen it," said he guiltily.
"Ay, a fox with black hair and a red, fat face," quoth Saint Werburgh
sternly. "Do not tell me lies. You have taken him, Master Hugh. I can
read it in your heart." Then he grew weak and confessed.
"Ay, I have taken the great gray goose," he said faintly. "Was it so
very wrong?"
"He was a friend of mine and I love him dearly," said Saint Werburgh. At
these words the Steward turned very pale indeed.
"I did not know," he gasped.
"Go and bring him to me, then," commanded the Saint, and pointed to the
door. Master Hugh slunk out looking very sick and miserable and horribly
frightened. For the truth was that he had been tempted by Grayking's
fatness. He had carried the goose home and made him into a hot, juicy
pie which he had eaten for that very morning's breakfast. So how could
he bring the bird back to Saint Werburgh, no matter how sternly she
commanded?
All day long he hid in the woods, not daring to let himself be seen by
any one. For Saint Werburgh was a King's daughter; and if the King
should learn what he had done to the pet of the Lady Abbess, he might
have Hugh himself punished by being baked into a pie for the King's
hounds to eat.
But at night he could bear it no longer. He heard the voice of Saint
Werburgh calling his name very softly from the convent, "Master Hugh,
Master Hugh, come, bring me my goose!" And just as the geese could not
help coming when she called them, so he felt that he must go, whether he
would or no. He went into his pantry and took down the remains of the
great pie. He gathered up the bones of poor Grayking in a little basket,
and with chattering teeth and shaking limbs stole up to the convent and
knocked at the wicket gate.
Saint Werburgh was waiting for him. "I knew you would come," she said.
"Have you brought my goose?" Then silently and with trembling hands he
took out the bones one by one and laid them on the ground before Saint
Werburgh. So he stood with bowed head and knocking knees waiting to hear
her pronounce his punishment.
"Oh, you wicked man!" she said sadly. "You have killed my beautiful
Grayking, who never did harm to any one except to steal a little corn."
"I did not know you loved him, Lady," faltered the man in self-defense.
"You ought to have known it," she returned; "you ought to have loved him
yourself."
"I did, Lady Abbess," confessed the man. "That was the trouble. I loved
him too well--in a pie."
"Oh, selfish, gluttonous man!" she exclaimed in disgust. "Can you not
see the beauty of a dear little live creature till it is dead and fit
only for your table? I shall have you taught better. Henceforth you
shall be made to study the lives and ways of all things which live about
the convent; and never again, for punishment, shall you eat flesh of any
bird or beast. We will see if you cannot be taught to love them when
they have ceased to mean Pie. Moreover, you shall be confined for two
days and two nights in the pen where I kept the geese. And porridge
shall be your only food the while. Go, Master Hugh."
So the wicked Steward was punished. But he learned his lesson; and after
a little while he grew to love the birds almost as well as Saint
Werburgh herself.
But she had not yet finished with Grayking. After Master Hugh had gone
she bent over the pitiful little pile of bones which was all that was
left of that unlucky pie. A tear fell upon them from her beautiful eyes;
and kneeling down she touched them with her white fingers, speaking
softly the name of the bird whom she had loved.
[Illustration: SAINT WERBURGH & HER GOOSE]
"Grayking, arise," she said. And hardly had the words left her mouth
when a strange thing happened. The bones stirred, lifted themselves, and
in a moment a glad "Honk!" sounded in the air, and Grayking himself,
black ring and all, stood ruffling his feathers before her. She clasped
him in her arms and kissed him again and again. Then calling the rest of
the flock by her strange power, she showed them their lost leader
restored as good as new.
What a happy flock of geese flew honking away in an even V, with the
handsomest, grayest, plumpest goose in all the world at their head! And
what an exciting story he had to tell his mates! Surely, no other goose
ever lived who could tell how it felt to be made into pie, to be eaten
and to have his bones picked clean by a greedy Steward.
This is how Saint Werburgh made lifelong friendship with a flock of big
gray geese. And I dare say even now in England one of their descendants
may be found with a black ring around his neck, the handsomest, grayest,
plumpest goose in all the world. And when he hears the name of Saint
Werburgh, which has been handed down to him from grandfather to
grandson for twelve hundred years, he will give an especially loud
"Honk!" of praise.
Dear Saint Werburgh! One would almost be willing to make a goose of
himself if so he might see her again, with all her feathered friends
about her.