To the coming and going of the friars, too, the village people have
become well used, and the infrequent excursionists, for lack of
intelligence and of any knowledge that would refer to history, look at
them without obtrusive curiosity. It was only from a Salvation Army girl
that you heard the brutal word of contempt. She had come to the place
with some companions, and with them was trespassing, as she was welcome
to do, within the monastery grounds. She stood, a figure for Bournemouth
pier, in her grotesque bonnet, and watched the son of the Umbrian
saint--the friar who walks among the Giotto frescoes at Assisi and
between the cypresses of Bello Sguardo, and has paced the centuries
continually since the coming of the friars. One might have asked of her
the kindness of a fellow-feeling. She and he alike were so habited as to
show the world that their life was aloof from its "idle business." By
some such phrase, at least, the friar would assuredly have attempted to
include her in any spiritual honours ascribed to him. Or one might have
asked of her the condescension of forbearance.
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