right hand side was a wooden stool where he sat sometimes to pray and on
the wall against it a little press that held some bottles within, and in
another shelf some holy relics that are now in the church, and in
another his six books; and above, upon the top, a little cross with our
Lord upon it, very rude; for he said that the eyes of the soul should
not be hindered by the eyes of the body, and that our Lord showed
Himself often to him more clearly and truly than a craftsman could make
Him. Above the window was a little figure of the Mother of God, set
there, he told me, above the sight of the green wood, because she was
the mother of all living, and had restored what Eve had spoiled.

I cannot tell you, my children, of the peace of this place. The little
house, and indeed the whole circle of the meadow set about with trees,
was always to me as a mansion in paradise. There were no sounds here but
the song of the birds and the running of the water and the wind in the
trees; and no sight of any other world but this, except in winter when
the hill over against the hut showed itself through the branches not
three hundred paces away. On all other sides the woods rose to the sky.
I think that the beasts knew the peace of the place. I have seen often a
stag unafraid watching Master Richard as he dug or walked on his path;
the robins would follow him, and the little furry creatures sit round
him with ears on end. And he told me, too, that never since he had come
to the place had blood fallen on the ground except his own when he
scourged himself. The hunting-weasel never came here, though the conies
were abundant; the stags never fought here though there was a fair
ground for a battlefield. It was a peace that passed understanding, and
what that peace is the apostle tells us.

Here I came then on Corpus Christi evening, thirty years ago, as the sun
was near its setting behind the gate through which I came, and my shadow