Willingly did Basil set about this
task, which broke the monotony of the day, and, more than that, was
in itself agreeable to him. He had always found pleasure in the
rustic life, and of late, at his Asculan villa, had often wished he
could abide in quiet for the rest of his days amid the fields and
the vineyards. Working in the mellow sunlight, above him the soft
blue sky of early autumn, and all around the silence of mountain and
of forest, he felt his health renew itself. When the first drops of
sweat stood upon his forehead he wiped them away with earthy
fingers, and the mere action--he knew not why--gave him
pleasure.
But of a sudden he became aware that he had lost something. From the
little finger of his left hand had slipped his signet ring. It must
have fallen since he began working, and anxiously he searched for it
about the ground. Whilst he was thus occupied, Marcus came towards
him, carrying a great basket of vegetables. Not without diffidence,
Basil told what had happened.
'You will rebuke me, holy brother, for heeding such a loss. But the
ring is very old; it has been worn by many of my ancestors, to them
it came, and from one who suffered martyrdom in the times of
Diocletian.
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