him. After I had finished, I got him to lend me a
little ink from his veins; and with this and a sliver
I wrote on a piece of bark--

Put him in the Man-factory--

and gave it to him, and said:

"Take it to the palace at Camelot and give it
into the hands of Amyas le Poulet, whom I call
Clarence, and he will understand."

"He is a priest, then," said the man, and some of
the enthusiasm went out of his face.

"How--a priest? Didn't I tell you that no
chattel of the Church, no bond-slave of pope or
bishop can enter my Man-factory? Didn't I tell
you that you couldn't enter unless your religion,
whatever it might be, was your own free property?"

" Marry, it is so, and for that I was glad; where-
fore it liked me not, and bred in me a cold doubt, to
hear of this priest being there."

"But he isn't a priest, I tell you."

The man looked far from satisfied. He said:

"He is not a priest, and yet can read?"

"He is not a priest and yet can read--yes, and
write, too, for that matter. I taught him myself."
The man's face cleared. "And it is the first thing
that you yourself will be taught in that Factory--"

"I? I would give blood out of my heart to know
that art. Why, I will be your slave, your--"

"No you won't, you won't be anybody's slave.
Take your family and go along. Your lord the
bishop will confiscate your small property, but no
matter. Clarence will fix you all right."

-109-