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The merchant did as he was told . " There is nothing lacking , " he said , " but the ten pieces he has told you about ; and I will give him these as a reward . " " No , " said Al Mansour , " it is for me to reward the man as he deserves . " Saying this , he ordered that ten gold pieces be given to the merchant in place of those that were lacking . Then he rewarded the gardener with ten more pieces for his honesty . " Your debt is paid . Think no more about it , " he said . THE COWHERD WHO BECAME A POET I In England there was once a famous abbey , called Whitby . It was so close to the sea that those who lived in it could hear the waves forever beating against the shore . The land around it was rugged , with only a few fields in the midst of a vast forest . In those far - off days , an abbey was half church , half castle . It was a place where good people , and timid , helpless people could find shelter in time of war . There they might live in peace and safety while all the country round was overrun by rude and barbarous men . One cold night in winter the serving men of the abbey were gathered in the great kitchen . They were sitting around the fire and trying to keep themselves warm . Out of doors the wind was blowing . The men heard it as it whistled through the trees and rattled the doors of the abbey . They drew up closer to the fire and felt thankful that they were safe from the raging storm . " Who will sing us a song ? " said the master woodman as he threw a fresh log upon the fire . " Yes , a song ! a song ! " shouted some of the others . " Let us have a good old song that will help to keep us warm . " " We can all be minstrels to - night , " said the chief cook . " Suppose we each sing a song in turn . What say you ? " " Agreed ! agreed ! " cried the others . " And the cook shall begin . " The woodman stirred the fire until the flames leaped high and the sparks flew out of the roof hole . Then the chief cook began his song . He sang of war , and of bold rough deeds , and of love and sorrow . After him the other men were called , one by one ; and each in turn sang his favorite song . The woodman sang of the wild forest ; the plowman sang of the fields ; the shepherd sang of his sheep ; and those who listened forgot about the storm and the cold weather . But in the corner , almost hidden from his fellows , one poor man was sitting who did not enjoy the singing . It was Caedmon , the cowherd . " What shall I do when it comes my turn ? " he said to himself . " I do not know any song . My voice is harsh and I cannot sing . "
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