At once the monks seized Duncan by his arms and bare him down the Hall. They took him to an open place, where sheep had grazed the grass very short, and there he was stood, while all of the monks kneeled upon the ground not far hence and prayed.
Duncan waited for lightning to fall upon his head, but nothing happened.
The sun rose further into the sky, and Duncan was glad that he had eaten the extra food, for it was a long morning of idleness for him.
The leading monk stepped forward and addressed his brothers.
"We perceive that this man is not working for the devil, but we do not know if he is a saint. Let him be proven another way. We shall give him time to do a miracle, so that we shall know if he is a saint or no!"
The monks who already believed Duncan to be a saint cheered. They fell on their knees to pray, while Duncan looked about wondering as to what kind of miracle he was expected to perform.
He was glad that miracles were for the Lord to do, and not mortals, but, to please the monks who were so earnestly praying for him he tried very hard to deliver a suitable marvel.
But every attempt to perform a miracle failed miserably.
He could not turn a rock into bread, or grass into honey. He could not make a flock of sheep come to him, or a bird alight on his hand. He failed to jump to the clouds, or turn himself invisible, and soon he was a great disappointment to the ten monks who so wanted him to be a saint.
Another argument began, in which ten monks shouted at the other ten. Many of these holy men began to punch each other, and to kick, and not a few wielded tree-branches or sticks.
It was at this point in the monastery's history that a fine young gentleman, on a well-fed, elegant horse, came trotted up the hill. He reigned in beside the gate and watched the monks debating, until one by one they noticed him, whereupon they improved their behaviour with remarkable speed.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked the man, who was none other than the lord of the land, called lord Cheesemaker Ramsbottom Smythe.
