"I perceive that you are instructed in the Books," he exclaimed with
wonder on his yellow, wrinkled face, "and to such we cannot refuse
shelter. Come in, brethren of the monastery called the World. But stay,
there is the yak, who also has claims upon our charity," and, turning,
he struck upon a gong or bell which hung within the door.
At the sound another man appeared, more wrinkled and to all appearance
older than the first, who stared at us open-mouthed.
"Brother," said the abbot, "shut that great mouth of yours lest an evil
spirit should fly down it; take this poor yak and give it fodder with
the other cattle."
So we unstrapped our belongings from the back of the beast, and the old
fellow whose grandiloquent title was "Master of the Herds," led it away.
When it had gone, not too willingly--for our faithful friend disliked
parting from us and distrusted this new guide--the abbot, who was
named Kou-en, led us into the living room or rather the kitchen of the
monastery, for it served both purposes. Here we found the rest of the
monks, about twelve in all, gathered round the fire of which we had seen
the smoke, and engaged, one of them in preparing the morning meal, and
the rest in warming themselves.
They were all old men; the youngest could not have been less than
sixty-five. To these we were solemnly introduced as "Brethren of the
Monastery called the World, where folk grow hungry," for the abbot
Kou-en could not make up his mind to part from this little joke.
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