When this had gone on for some time, his disciple who cooked the nettles for him saw that he was falling away in flesh, so he took a hollow elderstick, put butter into the tube, and by this means enriched the dish.
S. Columba said, "The nettles do not taste as before. They have a richer flavour. What have you done to them?"
"Master dear," answered his disciple, "I have put nothing into the pot but this stick, wherewith I stirred its contents."
Nor were they pedantic in observance of rule. Travellers came to S. Cronan, and he had meat and ale set on the board, and he himself and his monks sat down to make merry with them.
"Humph!" said a formalist among them, "at this rate I do not see much prospect of matins being said."
"My friend," answered Cronan, "in receiving strangers we receive Christ; as to the matins, the angels will sing them in our room."
Finding that some travellers had wandered all night unable to find shelter, "This will never do," said he; "I shall move my quarters to the roadside."
Though rough in their treatment of themselves, they were tender-hearted and kind to bird and beast and man. It was through a frightened fawn flying for refuge to S. Petrock that Constantine was brought to repentance. S. Columba prayed with his arms extended till the birds perched on his hands. Another Columba, the founder, as I suspect,
