when the other, when to dig, when to speak, and when to contemplate; and
he would tell me that for this there are two guides that God Almighty
sends--the one is that of exterior circumstance, and the other that of
an interior knowledge, and he would follow that which cried the louder.
If he desired to contemplate and a neighbour came to talk with him; if
he perceived the neighbour clearly he would give over his contemplation;
if not he would continue to contemplate. Again, if the imagination of a
spade came mightily before him, or if he remembered that the sun would
soon be up and his beans not watered, again he would give over his
contemplation and dig or carry water.

For this there is needed one thing, and that a firm and quiet
simplicity. He would do nothing till his mind was quiet. The friend of
God must be as a little child, as the gospel tells us, and when the soul
is quiet there is no difficulty in knowing what must be done. The first
business then of a solitary's life is to preserve this quiet against the
fiend's assaults and disquiet. And, I think, of all that I have ever
known, Master Richard's soul was the most quiet, and most like to the
soul of a little child.

As I walked now beside the stream I knew very well that it was for this
that he was striving in contemplation: the sweat that ran down his
cheeks was the sign of the fiend's assault, and I knew that I had done
well to come. I had followed, as Master Richard himself had taught me,
that loud interior voice.

So I strove to become quiet myself; I signed myself with the cross, and
cried softly upon saint Giles to pray for me to God's Majesty that I
might know what to say and do. Then I placed myself, as I had learned,
at the divine feet; I looked at the yellow flowers and the clear running