A Child's Book of Saints

by

William Canton

With illustrations by

T. H. Robinson

 This is fairy gold, boy; And I will prove it so. --Shakespeare

 Every man I will go with thee, be thy guide in thy most need to go by thy side. 

London

Published by J. M. Dent & Co. 

and in New York by

E. P. Dutton & Co. 

First Edition, March 1906. 

Reprinted May 1906. 

EDITOR'S NOTE. 

"A Child's Book of Saints" was first published in 1898, when Mr. Cantonhad already found his audience. The book is a near successor indeed tohis "W. V. : Her Book, " and to "The Invisible Playmate"; and W. V. Againacts as guardian elf and guide to this new region of the child'searthly paradise. The Saints are here treated with a simplicity thatis almost or altogether childlike, and with an unforced imaginationwhich is only to be learnt by becoming as a child. And this is perhapswhy, although comparatively a new book, it has the air of somethingpleasantly old, and written long ago; and thus wins its way into thechildren's library of old favourite authors. 

Mr. Canton's published works, up to January 1906, comprise:--"A LostEpic, and other Poems, " 1887. "The Invisible Playmate: a Story of theUnseen, " 1894, 1897. "W. V. , Her Book and Various Verses, " 1896. "AChild's Book of Saints, " 1898, 1902. "Children's Sayings, Edited, witha Digression on the Small People, " 1900. "The True Annals ofFairyland" (The Reign of King Herla), 1900, &c. "In Memory of W. V. "(Winifred Vida Canton), 1901. "The Comrades: Poems, Old and New, "1902. "What is the Bible Society?" 1903. "The Story of the BibleSociety, " 1904. "A History of the British and Foreign Bible Society, "1904. "Little Hands and God's Book: a Sketch of the Bible Society, "1804-1904, 1905. 

Contents

 IN THE FOREST OF STONE THE SONG OF THE MINSTER THE PILGRIM OF A NIGHT THE ANCIENT GODS PURSUING THE DREAM OF THE WHITE LARK THE HERMIT OF THE PILLAR KENACH'S LITTLE WOMAN GOLDEN APPLES AND ROSES RED THE SEVEN YEARS OF SEEKING THE GUARDIANS OF THE DOOR ON THE SHORES OF LONGING THE CHILDREN OF SPINALUNGA THE SIN OF THE PRINCE BISHOP THE LITTLE BEDESMAN OF CHRIST THE BURNING OF ABBOT SPIRIDION THE COUNTESS ITHA THE STORY OF THE LOST BROTHER THE KING ORGULOUS THE JOURNEY OF RHEINFRID LIGHTING THE LAMPS

List of Illustrations

Women lived the life of prayer and praise and austerity and miracle

"These are the fields in which the Shepherds watched"

Hilary wondered and mused

A gaunt, dark figure, far up in the blue Asian sky

"Come not any nearer, turn thy face to the forest, and go down"

"I am not mad, most noble Sapricius"

They won their long sea-way home

"And four good Angels watch my bed, two at the foot and two the head"

And again in the keen November

The eight hundred horsemen turned in dismay

"Surely in all the world God has no more beautiful house than this"

St. Francis of Assisi

Itha rode away with her lord

King Orgulous

_A saint, whose very name I have forgotten, had a vision, in which hesaw Satan standing before the throne of God; and, listening, he heardthe evil spirit say, "Why hast Thou condemned me, who have offendedThee but once, whilst Thou savest thousands of men who have offendedThee many times?" God answered him, "Hast thou_ once _asked pardon ofme?"_

_Behold the Christian mythology! It is the dramatic truth, which hasits worth and effect independently of the literal truth, and which evengains nothing by being fact. What matter whether the saint had or hadnot heard the sublime words which I have just quoted! The great pointis to know that pardon is refused only to him who does not ask it. _

COUNT DE MAISTRE. 

A Child's Book of Saints

In the Forest of Stone

Looking down the vista of trees and houses from the slope of ourgarden, W. V. Saw the roof and spire of the church of the Oak-menshowing well above the green huddle of the Forest. 

"It is a pretty big church, isn't it, father?" she asked, as shepointed it out to me. 

It was a most picturesque old-fashioned church, though in mythoughtlessness I had mistaken it for a beech and a tall poplar growingapparently side by side; but the moment she spoke I perceived myillusion. 

"I expect, if we were anywhere about on a Sunday morning, " shesurmised, with a laugh, "we should see hundreds and hundreds ofOak-girls and Oak-boys going in schools to service. "

"Dressed in green silk, with bronze boots and pink feathers--thecolours of the new oak-leaves, eh?"

"Oh, father, it would be lovely!" in a burst of ecstasy. "Oughtn't weto go and find the way to their church?"

We might do something much less amusing. Accordingly we took thebearings of the green spire with the skill of veteran explorers. Itlay due north, so that if we travelled by the way of the North Star weshould be certain to find it. Wheeling the Man before us, we made aNorth Star track for ourselves through the underwood and over lastyear's rustling beech-leaves, till Guy ceased babbling and crooning, and dropped into a slumber, as he soon does in the fresh of themorning. Then we had to go slowly for fear he should be wakened by thenoise of the dead wood underfoot, for, as we passed over it with wheelsand boots, it snapped and crackled like a freshly-kindled fire. It wasa relief to get at last to the soft matting of brown needles and conesunder the Needle-trees, for there we could go pretty quickly withouteither jolting him or making a racket. 

We went as far as we were able that day, and we searched in glade andlawn, in coppice and dingle, but never a trace could we find of thesylvan minster where the Oak-people worship. As we wandered throughthe Forest we came upon a number of notice boards nailed high up on thetrunks of various trees, but when W. V. Discovered that these onlyrepeated the same stern legend: "Caution. Persons breaking, climbingupon, or otherwise damaging, " she indignantly resented this incessantintrusion on the innocent enjoyment of free foresters. How much nicerit would have been if there had been a hand on one of these repressiveboards, with the inscription: "This way to the North Star Church;" or, if a caution was really necessary for some of the people who enteredthe Forest, to say: "The public are requested not to disturb the Elves, Birch-ladies, and Oak-men;" but of course the most delightful thingwould be to have a different fairy-tale written up in clear letters oneach of the boards, and a seat close by where one could rest and readit comfortably. 

I told her there were several forests I had explored, in whichsomething like that was really done; only the stories were notfairy-tales, but legends of holy men and women; and among the branchesof the trees were fixed most beautifully coloured glass pictures ofthose holy people, who had all lived and died, and some of whom hadbeen buried, in those forests, hundreds of years ago. Most of theforests were very ancient--older than the thrones of many kingdoms; andmen lived and delighted in them long before Columbus sailed intounknown seas to discover America. Many, indeed, had been blown downand destroyed by a terrible storm which swept over the world when HenryVIII. Ruled in England, and only wrecks of them now remained for anyone to see, but others, which had survived the wild weather of thosedays, were as wonderful and as lovely as a dream. The tall trees inthem sent out curving branches which interlaced high overhead, shuttingout the blue sky and making a sweet and solemn dimness, and nearly allthe light that streamed in between the fair round trunks and thearching boughs was like that of a splendid sunset, only it was thereall day long and never faded out till night fell. And in some of theforests there were great magical roses, of a hundred brilliant colourscrowded together, and as big as the biggest cart-wheel, or bigger. 

These woods were places of happy quietude and comfort and gladness ofheart; but, instead of Oak-men, there were many Angels. 

Here and there, too, in the silent avenues, mighty warriors and saintlyabbots, and statesmen bishops, and it might be even a king or a queen, had been buried; and over their graves there were sometimes images ofthem lying carved in marble or alabaster, and sometimes there had beenbuilt the loveliest little chapels all sculptured over with tracery offlowers and foliage. 

"True, father?"

"True as true, dear. Some day I shall take you to see for yourself. "

We know a dip in a dingle where the woodcutters have left a log amongthe hazels, and here, having wheeled Guy into a dappling of sunny discsand leaf-shadows in a grassy bay, we sat down on the log, and talked inan undertone. Our failure to find the Oak-men's church reminded me ofthe old legends of lost and invisible churches, the bells of which areheard ringing under the snow, or in the depths of the woods, or faraway in burning deserts, or fathom-deep beneath the blue sea; but thepilgrim or the chance wayfarer who has heard the music of the bells hasnever succeeded in discovering the way that leads to the lost church. It is on the clear night of St. John's Day, the longest day of theyear, or on the last hour of Christmas Eve, that these bells are heardpealing most sweet and clear. 

It was in this way that we came to tell Christian legends and to talkof saints and hermits, of old abbeys and minsters, of visions andmiracles and the ministry of Angels. Guy, W. V. Thought, might beable, if only he could speak, to tell us much about heaven and theAngels; it was so short a time since he left them. She herself hadquite forgotten, but, then--deprecatingly--it was so long and long andlong ago; "eight years, a long time for me. "

The faith and the strange vivid daydreams of the Middle Ages were a newworld into which she was being led along enchanted footpaths; quitedifferent from the worldly world of the "Old Romans, " and of Englishhistory; more real it seemed and more credible, for all its wonders, than the world of elves and water-maidens. Delightful as it was, itwas scarce believable that fairies ever carried a little girl up abovethe tree-tops and swung her in the air from one to another; but whenSt. Catherine of Siena was a little child, and went to be a hermit inthe woods, and got terribly frightened, and lost her way, and sat downto cry, the Angels, you know, did really and truly waft her up on theirwings and carried her to the valley of Fontebranda, which was very nearhome. And when she was quite a little thing and used to say herprayers going up to bed, the Angels would come to her and just "whip"her right up the stairs in an instant!

Occasionally these legends brought us to the awful brink of religiouscontroversies and insoluble mysteries, but, like those gentle savageswho honour the water-spirits by hanging garlands from tree to treeacross the river, W. V. Could always fling a bridge of flowers over ourabysses. "Our sense, " she would declare, "is nothing to God's; andthough big people have more sense than children, the sense of all thebig people in the world put together would be no sense to His. " "Weare only little babies to Him; we do not understand Him at all. "Nothing seemed clearer to her than the reasonableness of one legendwhich taught that though God always answers our prayers, He does notalways answer in the way we would like, but in some better way than weknow. "Yes, " she observed, "He is just a dear old Father. " Anythingabout our Lord engrossed her imagination; and it was a frequent wish ofhers that He would come again. "Then, "--poor perplexed little mortal!whose difficulties one could not even guess at--"we should be quitesure of things. Miss Catherine tells us from books: He would tell usfrom His memory. People would not be so cruel to Him now. QueenVictoria would not allow any one to crucify Him. "

I don't think that W. V. , in spite of her confidence in my good faith, was quite convinced of the existence of those old forests of which Ihad told her, until I explained that they were forests of stone, which, if men did not mar them, would blossom for centuries unchanged, thoughthe hands that planted them had long been blown in dust about theworld. She understood all that I meant when we visited York andWestminster, and walked through the long avenues of stone palms andpines, with their overarching boughs, and gazed at the marvellousrose-windows in which all the jewels of the world seemed to have beenset, and saw the colours streaming through the gorgeous lancets andhigh many-lighted casements. After that it was delightful to turn overengravings and photographs of ruined abbeys and famous old churches athome and abroad, and to anticipate the good time when we should visitthem together, and perhaps not only descend into the crypts but gothrough the curious galleries which extend over the pillars of thenave, and even climb up to the leaded roof of the tower, or dare thelong windy staircases and ladders which mount into the spire, and solook down on the quaint map of streets, and houses, and gardens, andsquares, hundreds of feet below. 

She liked to hear how some of those miracles of stone had beenfashioned and completed--how monks in the days of old had travelledover the land with the relics of saints, collecting treasure of allsorts for the expense of the work; how sometimes the people came inhundreds dragging great oaks and loads of quarried stone, and bringingfat hogs, beans, corn, and beer for the builders and their workmen; howeven queens carried block or beam to the masons, so that with their ownhands they might help in the glorious labour; and poor old women gaveassistance by cooking food and washing and spinning and weaving andmaking and mending; how when the foundations were blessed kings andprinces and powerful barons laid each a stone, and when the choir sangthe antiphon, "And the foundations of the wall were garnished with allmanner of precious stones, " they threw costly rings and jewels andchains of gold into the trench; and how years and generations passedaway, and abbots and bishops and architects and masons and sculptorsand labourers died, but new men took their places, and still the vastwork went on, and the beautiful pile rose higher and higher into theeverlasting heavens. 

Then, too, we looked back at the vanished times when the world was allso different from our world of to-day; and in green and fruitful spotsamong the hills and on warm river-lawns and in olden cities of narrowstreets and overhanging roofs, there were countless abbeys and prioriesand convents; and thousands of men and women lived the life of prayerand praise and austerity and miracle and vision which is described inthe legends of the Saints. We lingered in the pillared cloisters wherethe black-letter chronicles were written in Latin, and music was scoredand hymns were composed, and many a rare manuscript was illuminated incrimson and blue and emerald and gold; and we looked through the fairarches into the cloister-garth where in the green sward a grave layever ready to receive the remains of the next brother who should passaway from this little earth to the glory of Paradise. What struck W. V. Perhaps most of all was, that in some leafy places these holy houseswere so ancient that even the blackbirds and throstles had learned torepeat some of the cadences of the church music, and in those placesthe birds still continue to pipe them, though nothing now remains ofchurch or monastery except the name of some field or street or well, which people continue to use out of old habit and custom. 

[Illustration: _Women lived the life of prayer and praise_]

It was with the thought of helping the busy little brain to realisesomething of that bygone existence, with its strange modes of thought, its unquestioning faith in the unseen and eternal, its vividconsciousness of the veiled but constant presence of the holy andomnipotent God, its stern self-repression and its tender charity, itslovely ideals and haunting legends, that I told W. V. The stories inthis little book. It mattered little to her or to me that thatexistence had its dark shadows contrasting with its celestial light: itwas the light that concerned us, not the shadows. 

Some of the stories were told on the log, while Guy slept in hismail-cart in the dappled shelter of the dingle; others by a winter firewhen the days were short, and the cry of the wind in the dark made iteasy for one to believe in wolves; others in the Surrey hills, a yearago, in a sandy hollow crowned with bloom of the ling, and famous for alittle pool where the martins alight to drink and star the mud with amaze of claw-tracks; and yet again, others, this year, [1] under the dryroof of the pines of Anstiebury, when the fosse of the old Britonsettlement was dripping with wet, and the woods were dim with the smokeof rain, and the paths were red with the fallen bloom of the redchestnuts and white with the flourish of May and brown with the catkinsof the oak, and the cuckoo, calling in Mosses Wood, was answered fromRedlands and the Warren, and the pines where we sat (snug and dry)looked so solemn and dark that, with a little fancy, it was easy tochange the living greenwood into the forest of stone. 

As they were told, under the pressure of an insatiable listener, sohave they been written, save for such a phrase, here and there, asslips more readily from the pen than from the tongue. 

Of the stories which were told, but which have not been written forthis book, if W. V. Should question me, I shall answer in the wisewords of the Greybeard of Broce-Liande: "However hot thy thirst, andhowever pleasant to assuage it, leave clear water in the well. "

[1] The year of the happy hills, 1898. 

The Song of the Minster

When John of Fulda became Prior of Hethholme, says the old chronicle, he brought with him to the Abbey many rare and costly books--beautifulilluminated missals and psalters and portions of the Old and NewTestament. And he presented rich vestments to the Minster; albs offine linen, and copes embroidered with flowers of gold. In the westfront he built two great arched windows filled with marvellous storiedglass. The shrine of St. Egwin he repaired at vast outlay, adorning itwith garlands in gold and silver, but the colour of the flowers was incoloured gems, and in like fashion the little birds in the nooks of thefoliage. Stalls and benches of carved oak he placed in the choir; andmany other noble works he had wrought in his zeal for the glory ofGod's house. 

In all the western land was there no more fair or stately Minster thanthis of the Black Monks, with the peaceful township on one side, and onthe other the sweet meadows and the acres of wheat and barley slopingdown to the slow river, and beyond the river the clearings in theancient forest. 

But Thomas the Sub-prior was grieved and troubled in his mind by therichness and the beauty of all he saw about him, and by the Prior'seagerness to be ever adding some new work in stone, or oak, or metal, or jewels. 

"Surely, " he said to himself, "these things are unprofitable--less tothe honour of God than to the pleasure of the eye and the pride of lifeand the luxury of our house! Had so much treasure not been wasted onthese vanities of bright colour and carved stone, our dole to the poorof Christ might have been fourfold, and they filled with good things. But now let our almoner do what best he may, I doubt not many a lepersleeps cold, and many a poor man goes lean with hunger. "

This the Sub-prior said, not because his heart was quick withfellowship for the poor, but because he was of a narrow and gloomy andgrudging nature, and he could conceive of no true service of God whichwas not one of fasting and praying, of fear and trembling, ofjoylessness and mortification. 

Now you must know that the greatest of the monks and the hermits andthe holy men were not of this kind. In their love of God they wereblithe of heart, and filled with a rare sweetness and tranquillity ofsoul, and they looked on the goodly earth with deep joy, and they had atender care for the wild creatures of wood and water. But Thomas hadyet much to learn of the beauty of holiness. 

Often in the bleak dark hours of the night he would leave his cell andsteal into the Minster, to fling himself on the cold stones before thehigh altar; and there he would remain, shivering and praying, till hisstrength failed him. 

It happened one winter night, when the thoughts I have spoken of hadgrown very bitter in his mind, Thomas guided his steps by the glimmerof the sanctuary lamp to his accustomed place in the choir. Falling onhis knees, he laid himself on his face with the palms of hisoutstretched hands flat on the icy pavement. And as he lay there, taking a cruel joy in the freezing cold and the torture of his body, hebecame gradually aware of a sound of far-away yet most heavenly music. 

He raised himself to his knees to listen, and to his amazement heperceived that the whole Minster was pervaded by a faint mysteriouslight, which was every instant growing brighter and clearer. And asthe light increased the music grew louder and sweeter, and he knew thatit was within the sacred walls. But it was no mortal minstrelsy. 

The strains he heard were the minglings of angelic instruments, and thecadences of voices of unearthly loveliness. They seemed to proceedfrom the choir about him, and from the nave and transept and aisles;from the pictured windows and from the clerestory and from the vaultedroofs. Under his knees he felt that the crypt was throbbing anddroning like a huge organ. 

Sometimes the song came from one part of the Minster, and then all therest of the vast building was silent; then the music was taken up, asit were in response, in another part; and yet again voices andinstruments would blend in one indescribable volume of harmony, whichmade the huge pile thrill and vibrate from roof to pavement. 

As Thomas listened, his eyes became accustomed to the celestial lightwhich encompassed him, and he saw--he could scarce credit his sensesthat he saw--the little carved angels of the oak stalls in the choirclashing their cymbals and playing their psalteries. 

He rose to his feet, bewildered and half terrified. At that moment themighty roll of unison ceased, and from many parts of the church therecame a concord of clear high voices, like a warbling of silvertrumpets, and Thomas heard the words they sang. And the words werethese--

 _Tibi omnes Angeli. _ _To Thee all Angels cry aloud. _

So close to him were two of these voices that Thomas looked up to thespandrels in the choir, and he saw that it was the carved angelsleaning out of the spandrels that were singing. And as they sang thebreath came from their stone lips white and vaporous into the frostyair. 

He trembled with awe and astonishment, but the wonder of what washappening drew him towards the altar. The beautiful tabernacle work ofthe altar screen contained a double range of niches filled with thestatues of saints and kings; and these, he saw, were singing. Hepassed slowly onward with his arms outstretched, like a blind man whodoes not know the way he is treading. 

The figures on the painted glass of the lancets were singing. 

The winged heads of the baby angels over the marble memorial slabs weresinging. 

The lions and griffons and mythical beasts of the finials were singing. 

The effigies of dead abbots and priors were singing on their tombs inbay and chantry. 

The figures in the frescoes on the walls were singing. 

On the painted ceiling westward of the tower the verses of the Te Deum, inscribed in letters of gold above the shields of kings and princes andbarons, were visible in the divine light, and the very words of theseverses were singing, like living things. 

And the breath of all these as they sang turned to a smoke as ofincense in the wintry air, and floated about the high pillars of theMinster. 

Suddenly the music ceased, all save the deep organ-drone. 

Then Thomas heard the marvellous antiphon repeated in the bitterdarkness outside; and that music, he knew, must be the response of thegalleries of stone kings and queens, of abbots and virgin martyrs, overthe western portals, and of the monstrous gargoyles along the eaves. 

When the music ceased in the outer darkness, it was taken up again inthe interior of the Minster. 

At last there came one stupendous united cry of all the singers, and inthat cry even the organ-drone of the crypt, and the clamour of thebrute stones of pavement and pillar, of wall and roof, broke into wordsarticulate. And the words were these:

 _Per singulos dies, benedicimus Te. _ _Day by day: we magnify Thee, _ _And we worship Thy name: ever world without end. _

As the wind of the summer changes into the sorrowful wail of theyellowing woods, so the strains of joyous worship changed into a wailof supplication; and as he caught the words, Thomas too raised hisvoice in wild entreaty:

 _Miserere nostri, Domine, miserere nostri. _ _O Lord, have mercy upon us: have mercy upon us. _

And then his senses failed him, and he sank to the ground in a longswoon. 

When he came to himself all was still, and all was dark save for thelittle yellow flower of light in the sanctuary lamp. 

As he crept back to his cell he saw with unsealed eyes how churlishlyhe had grudged God the glory of man's genius and the service of Hisdumb creatures, the metal of the hills, and the stone of the quarry, and the timber of the forest; for now he knew that at all seasons, andwhether men heard the music or not, the ear of God was filled by dayand by night with an everlasting song from each stone of the vastMinster:

 _We magnify Thee, _ _And we worship Thy name: ever world without end. _

The Pilgrim of a Night

In the ancient days of faith the doors of the churches used to beopened with the first glimmer of the dawn in summer, and long beforethe moon had set in winter; and many a ditcher and woodcutter andploughman on his way to work used to enter and say a short prayerbefore beginning the labour of the long day. 

Now it happened that in Spain there was a farm-labourer named Isidore, who went daily to his early prayer, whatever the weather might be. Hisfellow-workmen were slothful and careless, and they gibed and jeered athis piety, but when they found that their mockery had no effect uponhim, they spoke spitefully of him in the hearing of the master, andaccused him of wasting in prayer the time which he should have given tohis work. 

When the farmer heard of this he was displeased, and he spoke toIsidore and bade him remember that true and faithful service was betterthan any prayer that could be uttered in words. 

"Master, " replied Isidore, "what you say is true, but it is also truethat no time is ever lost in prayer. Those who pray have God to workwith them, and the ploughshare which He guides draws as goodly andfruitful a furrow as another. "

This the master could not deny, but he resolved to keep a watch onIsidore's comings and goings, and early on the morrow he went to thefields. 

In the sharp air of the autumn morning he saw this one and that one ofhis men sullenly following the plough behind the oxen, and takinglittle joy in the work. Then, as he passed on to the rising ground, heheard a lark carolling gaily in the grey sky, and in the hundred-acrewhere Isidore was engaged he saw to his amazement not one plough butthree turning the hoary stubble into ruddy furrows. And one plough wasdrawn by oxen and guided by Isidore, but the two others were drawn andguided by Angels of heaven. 

When next the master spoke to Isidore it was not to reproach him, butto beg that he might be remembered in his prayers. 

Now the one great longing of Isidore's life was to visit that hallowedand happy country beyond the sea in which our Lord lived and died forus. He longed to gaze on the fields in which the Shepherds heard thesong of the Angels, and to know each spot named in the Gospels. Allthat he could save from his earnings Isidore hoarded up, so that oneday, before he was old, he might set out on pilgrimage to the HolyLand. It took many years to swell the leather bag in which he kept histreasure; and each coin told of some pleasure, or comfort, or necessarywhich he had denied himself. 

Now, when at length the bag was grown heavy, and it began to appear notimpossible that he might yet have his heart's desire, there came to hisdoor an aged pilgrim with staff and scallop-shell, who craved food andshelter for the night. Isidore bade him welcome, and gave him suchhomely fare as he might--bread and apples and cheese and thin wine, andsatisfied his hunger and thirst. 

Long they talked together of the holy places and of the joy of treadingthe sacred dust that had borne the marks of the feet of Christ. Thenthe pilgrim spoke of the long and weary journey he had yet to go, begging his way from village to village (for his scrip was empty) tillhe could prevail on some good mariner to give him ship-room and carryhim to the green isle of home, far away on the edge of sunset. Thinking of those whom he had left and who might be dead before hecould return, the pilgrim wept, and his tears so moved the heart ofIsidore that he brought forth his treasure and said:

"This have I saved in the great hope that one day I might set eyes onwhat thou hast beheld, and sit on the shores of the Lake of Galilee, and gaze on the hill of Calvary. But thy need is very great. Take it, and hasten home (ere they be dead) to those who love thee and look forthy coming; and if thou findest them alive bid them pray for me. "

And when they had prayed together Isidore and the pilgrim lay down tosleep. 

In the first sweet hours of the restful night Isidore became aware thathe was walking among strange fields on a hillside, and on the top of ahill some distance away there were the white walls and low flat-roofedhouses of a little town; and some one was speaking to him and saying, "These are the fields in which the Shepherds watched, and that rockypathway leads up the slope to Bethlehem. "

[Illustration: "_These are the fields in which the Shepherds watched_"]

At the sound of the voice Isidore hastily looked round, and behind himwas the pilgrim, and yet he knew that it was not truly the pilgrim, butan Angel disguised in pilgrim's weeds. And when he would have fallenat the Angel's feet, the Angel stopped him and said, "Be not afraid; Ihave been sent to show thee all the holy places that thy heart haslonged to see. "

On valley and hill and field and stream there now shone so clear andwonderful a light that even a long way off the very flowers by theroadside were distinctly visible. Without effort and without wearinessIsidore glided from place to place as though it were a dream. And Icannot tell the half of what he saw, for the Angel took him to thevillage where Jesus was a little child, which is called Nazareth, "theflower-village;" and he showed him the River Jordan flowing throughdark green woods, and Hermon the high mountain, glittering with snow(and the snow of that mountain is exceeding old), and the blue Lake ofGennesareth, with its fishing-craft, and the busy town of Capernaum onthe great road to Damascus, and Nain where Jesus watched the littlechildren playing at funerals and marriages in the market-place, and thewilderness where He was with the wild beasts, and Bethany where Lazaruslived and died and was brought to life again (and in the fields ofBethany Isidore gathered a bunch of wild flowers), and Jerusalem theholy city, and Gethsemane with its aged silver-grey olive-trees, andthe hill of Calvary, where in the darkness a great cry went up toheaven: "Why hast Thou forsaken me?" and the new tomb in the white rockamong the myrtles and rose-trees in the garden. 

There was no place that Isidore had desired to see that was denied tohim. And in all these places he saw the children's children of thechildren of those who had looked on the face of the Saviour--men andwomen and little ones--going to and fro in strangely coloured clothing, in the manner of those who had sat down on the green grass and been fedwith bread and fishes. And at the thought of this Isidore wept. 

"Why dost thou weep?" the Angel asked. 

"I weep that I was not alive to look on the face of the Lord. "

Then suddenly, as though it were a dream, they were on the sea-shore, and it was morning. And Isidore saw on the sparkling sea a fisher-shipdrifting a little way from the shore, but there was no one in it; andon the shore a boat was aground; and half on the sand and half in thewash of the sea there were swathes of brown nets filled with a hundredgreat fish which flounced and glittered in the sun; and on the sandthere was a coal fire with fish broiling on it, and on one side of thefire seven men--one of them kneeling and shivering in his drenchedfisher's coat--and on the other side of the fire a benign and majesticfigure, on whom the men were gazing in great joy and awe. And Isidore, knowing that this was the Lord, gazed too at Christ standing there inthe sun. 

And this was what he beheld: a man of lofty stature and most grave andbeautiful countenance. His eyes were blue and very brilliant, hischeeks were slightly tinged with red, and his hair was of the ruddygolden colour of wine. From the top of his head to his ears it wasstraight and without radiance; but from his ears to his shoulders anddown his back it fell in shining curls and clusters. 

Again all was suddenly changed, and Isidore and the Angel were alone. 

"Thou hast seen, " said the Angel; "give me thy hand so that thou shaltnot forget. "

Isidore stretched out his hand, and the Angel opened it, and turningthe palm upward, struck it. Isidore groaned with the sharp pain of thestroke, and sank into unconsciousness. 

When he awoke in the morning the sun was high in the heavens, and thepilgrim had departed on his way. But the hut was filled with aheavenly fragrance, and on his bed Isidore perceived the wild flowersthat he had plucked in the fields of Bethany--red anemones and bluelupins and yellow marigolds, with many others more sweet and lovelythan the flowers that grew in the fields or Spain. 

"Then surely, " he cried, "it was not merely a dream. "

And looking at his hand, he saw that the palm bore blue tracings suchas one sees on the arms of wanderers and seafaring men. These marks, Isidore learned afterwards, were the Hebrew letters that spelt the name"JERUSALEM. "

As long as he lived those letters recalled to his mind all the marvelsthat had been shown him. And they did more than this, for whenever hiseyes fell on them he said, "Blessed be the promise of the Lord theRedeemer of Israel, who hath us in His care for evermore!"

Now these are the words of that promise:

"_Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not havecompassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will Inot forget thee. Behold, I have engraven thee upon the palms of myhands. _"

The Ancient Gods Pursuing

I will now tell of Hilary and his companions, who came over the snowypasses of the Alps, and carried the lamp of faith into the north; andthis was in the days of the ancient gods. Many of their shrines hadHilary overturned, and broken their images, and cut down their sacredtrees, and denied their wells of healing. Wherefore terrible phantomspursued him in his dreams, and in the darkness, and in the haunted waysof the woods and mountains. At one time it was the brute-god Pan, whosought to madden him with the terror of his piping in desolate places;at another it was the sun-god Apollo, who threatened him with fieryarrows in the parching heat of noon; or it was Pallas Athene, whoappeared to him in visions, and shook in his face the Gorgon's head, which turns to stone all living creatures who look on it. But the holyBishop made the sign of the cross of the Lord, and the right arm oftheir power was broken, and their malice could not harm him. 

The holy men traversed the mountains by that Roman road which climbedup the icy rocks and among the snowy peaks of the Mountain of Jove, andat sundown they came to that high temple of Jove which had crowned thepass for many centuries. The statue of the great father-god of Romehad been hurled down the ravine into the snow-drift, and his altar hadbeen flung into the little wintry mere which shivers in the pass, andhis last priest had died of old age a lifetime ago; and the temple wasnow but a cold harbour for merchants and soldiers and wandering men. 

Here in the freezing air the apostles rested from their journey, but inthe dead of the night Hilary was awakened by a clamour of forlornvoices, and opening his eyes he saw the mighty father-god of Olympuslooking down upon him with angry brows, and brandishing in his hand redflashes of lightning. In no way daunted, the Bishop sprang to hisfeet, and cried in a loud voice, "In the name of Him who was crucified, depart to your torments!" And at the sound of that cry the colossalfigure of the god wavered and broke like a mountain cloud when itcrumbles in the wind, and glimmering shapes of goddesses and nymphsflitted past, sighing and lamenting; and the Bishop saw no longeranything but the sharp cold stars, and the white peaks and the ridgesof the mountains. 

When they had descended and reached the green valleys, they came atlength to a great lake, blue and beautiful to look upon, and here theysojourned for a while. It was a fair and pleasant land, but the peoplewere rude and barbarous, and drove them away with stones when theywould enter their hamlets. So, as they needed food, Hilary bade hiscompanions gather berries and wild herbs, and he himself set snares forbirds, and wove a net to cast into the lake, and made himself a raft ofpine-trees, from which he might cast it the more easily. 

One night as he floated on this raft in the starlight, he heard thevoice of the Spirit of the Peak calling to the Spirit of the Mere. Andthe Spirit of the Mere answered, "Speak, I am listening. " Then theMountain Spirit cried, "Arise, then, and come to my aid; alone I cannotchase away these men who are driving out all the ancient gods fromtheir shrines in the land. " The Water Spirit answered, "Of what availis our strength against theirs? Here on the starry waters is one whosenets I cannot break, and whose boat I cannot overturn. Without ceasinghe prays, and never are his eyes closed in slumber. " Then Hilary aroseon his raft, and raising his hand to heaven cried against the Spirit ofthe Peak and the Spirit of the Mere: "In the name of Him crucified, besilent for evermore, and leave these hills and waters to the servantsof God. " And these creatures of evil were stricken dumb, and they fledin dismay, making a great moaning and sobbing, and the dolorous soundwas as that of the wind in the pines and the water on the rocks. 

Then Hilary and his companions fared away into the north, through theGrey Waste, which is a wild and deserted country where in the oldentime vast armies had passed with fire and sword; and now the field hadturned into wildwood and morass, and the rich townsteads were barrowsof ruins and ashes overgrown with brambles, and had been given for alodging to the savage beasts. The name of this waste was more terriblethan the place, for the season was sweet and gracious, and of birds andfish and herbs and wild honey there was no dearth. They were now nolonger harassed by the phantoms of the ancient gods, or by the evilspirits of the unblessed earth. Thus for many long leagues was theirjourney made easy for them. 

Now it chanced, when they had reached the further edge of this region, that as they went one night belated along a green riding, which in theold time had been a spacious paved causeway between rich cities, theyheard the music of a harp, more marvellously sweet and solacing thanany mortal minstrel may make; and sweet dream-voices sighed to them"Follow, follow!" and they felt their feet drawn as by enchantment; andas they yielded to the magical power, a soft shining filled the duskyair, and they saw that the ground was covered with soft deep grass andbrilliant flowers, and the trees were of the colour of gold and silver. So in strange gladness, and feeling neither hunger nor fatigue, theywent forward through the hours of the night till the dawn, wonderingwhat angelic ministry was thus beguiling them of hardship and pain. But with the first gleam of the dawn the music ceased amid mockinglaughter, the vision of lovely woodland vanished away, and in the greylight they found themselves on the quaking green edges of a deep anddangerous marsh. Hilary, when he saw this, groaned in spirit and said:"O dear sons, we have deserved this befooling and misguidance, for havewe not forgotten the behest of our Master, 'Watch and pray lest yeenter into temptation'?"

Now when after much toilsomeness they had won clear of that foul tractof morass and quagmire, they came upon vast herds of swine grubbingbeneath the oaks, and with them savage-looking swineherds scantily cladin skins. Still further north they caught sight of the squalid hovelsand wood piles of charcoal burners; and still they pursued their waytill they cleared the dense forest and beheld before them a long rangeof hills blue in the distant air. Towards sundown they came on a stonymoorland, rough with heather and bracken and tufts of bent; and whenthere was but one long band of red light parting the distant land fromthe low sky, they descried a range of thick posts standing high andblack against the red in the heavens. As they drew near, these, theydiscovered, were the huge granite pillars of a great ring of stone andof an avenue which led up to it; and in the midst of the ring was amighty flat stone borne up on three stout pillars, so that it lookedlike a wondrous stone house of some strong folk of the beginning ofdays. 

"This, too, companions, " said Hilary, "is a temple of false gods. Veryancient gods of a world gone by are these, and it may be they have beenlong dead like their worshippers, and their names are no more spoken inthe world. Further we may not go this night; but on these stones weshall put the sign of the blessed tree of our redemption, and in itsshelter shall we sleep. "

As they slept that night in the lee of the stones Hilary saw in a dreamthe place wherein they lay; and the great stones, he was aware, werenot true stones of the rock, but petrified trees, and in his spirit heknew that these trees of stone were growths of that Forbidden Tree withthe fruit of which the Serpent tempted our first mother in Paradise. On the morrow when they rose, he strove to overthrow the huge pillars, but to this labour their strength was not equal. 

This same day was the day of St. John, the longest in all the year, andthey travelled far, till at last in the long afternoon they arrived insight of a cluster of little homesteads, clay huts thatched withbracken and fenced about with bushes of poison-thorn, and of tilledcrofts sloping down the hillside to a clear river wending through thevalley. 

As Hilary and his companions approached they saw that it was a day ofrejoicing and merry-making among the people, for they were all abroad, feasting and drinking from great mead horns in the open air, andshouting barbarous songs to the noise of rude instruments. When itgrew to such duskiness as there may be in a midsummer night countlessfires were lit, near at hand and far away, on the hills around; and onthe ridges above the river children ran about with blazing brands ofpine-wood, and young men and maidens gathered at the flaming beacon. Wheels, too, wrapped round tire and spoke with straw and flax smearedwith pine-tree gum, were set alight and sent rolling down the hill tothe river, amid wild cries and clapping of hands. Some of the wheelswent awry and were stayed among the boulders; on some the flames diedout; but there were those which reached the river and plunged into thewater and were extinguished; and the owners of these last deemedthemselves fortunate in their omens, for these fiery wheels were imagesof the sun in heaven, and their course to the river was the forecastingof his prosperous journey through the year to come. 

Thus these outland people held their festival, and Hilary marvelled tosee the many fires, for he had not known that the land held so manyfolk. But now when it was time for the wayfarers to cast about intheir minds how and where they should pass the night, there came tothem a stranger, a grave and seemly man clad in the manner of theRomans, and he bowed low to them, and said: "O saintly men, the LadyPelagia hath heard of your coming into this land, and she knows thatyou have come to teach men the new faith, for she is a great lady, mistress of vast demesnes, and many messengers bring her tidings of allthat happens. She bids me greet you humbly and prevail on you to comeand abide this night in her house, which is but a little way from here. "

"Is your lady of Rome?" asked Hilary. 

"From Rome she came hither, " said the messenger, "but aforetime she wasof Greece, and she hath great friendship for all wise and holy men. "

The wayfarers were surprised to hear of this lady, but they wererejoiced that, after such long wandering, there was some one to welcomethem where least they had expected word of welcome, and they followedthe messenger. 

Horn lantern in hand he led them through the warm June darkness, and onthe way answered many questions as to the folk of these parts, andtheir strange worship of sun and moon and wandering light of heaven;"but in a brief while, " he said, "all these heathen matters will be putby, when you have taught them the new faith. "

Up a gloomily wooded rise he guided them, till they passed into theradiance of a house lit with many lamps and cressets, and the house, they saw, was of fair marble such as are the houses of the patriciansof Rome; and many beautiful slaves, lightly clad and garlanded withroses, brought them water in silver bowls and white linen wherewiththey might cleanse themselves from the dust of their travel. 

In a little the Lady Pelagia received them and bade them welcome, andprayed them to make her poor house their dwelling-place while theysojourned in that waste of heathendom. Then she led them to a repastwhich had been made ready for them. 

Of all the gracious and lovely women in the round of the kingdoms ofthe earth none is, or hath been, or will be, more marvellous in beautyor in sweetness of approach than this lady; and she made Hilary sitbeside her, and questioned him of the Saints in the Queen City of theworld, and of his labours and his long wanderings, and the perilsthrough which he and his companions had come. All the while she spokeher starry eyes shed soft light on his face, and she leaned towards himher lovely head and fragrant bosom, drinking in his words with a lookof longing. The companions whispered among themselves that assuredlythis was rather an Angel of Paradise than a mortal creature of the dustof the earth, which to-day is as a flower in its desirableness andto-morrow is blown about all the ways of men's feet. Even the goodBishop felt his heart moved towards her with a strange tenderness, sosweet was the thought of her youth and her beauty and her goodness andhumility. 

Sitting in this fashion at table and conversing, and the talk nowveering to this and now to that, the Lady Pelagia said: "This longestof the days has been to me the most happy, holy fathers, for it hasbrought you to the roof of a sinful woman, and you have not disdainedthe service she has offered you in all lowliness of heart. A long and, it may be, a dangerous labour lies before you, for the folk of thisland are fierce and quick to violence; but here you may ever refreshyourselves from toil and take your rest, free from danger. No lovingoffices or lowly observance, no, nor ought you desire is there that youmay not have for the asking--or without the asking, if it be given meto know your wish unspoken. "

Hilary and the brethren bowed low at these gracious words, and thoughtwithin themselves: Of a truth this may be a woman, but she is no lessan Angel for our strength and solacement. 

"In the days to come, " said the lady, "there will be many things to askand learn from you, but now ere this summer night draws to end let mehave knowledge of divine things from thee, most holy father, for thouart wise and canst answer all my questionings. "

And Hilary smiled gravely, not ill pleased at her words of praise, andsaid: "Ask, daughter. "

"First tell me, " she said, "which of all the small things God has madein the world is the most excellent?"

Hilary wondered and mused, but could find no answer; and when he wouldhave said so, the voice which came from his lips spoke other words thanthose he intended to speak, so that instead of saying "This is aquestion I cannot answer, " his voice said: "Of all small things made byGod, most excellent is the face of man and woman; for among all thefaces of the children of Adam not any one hath ever been wholly likeany other; and there in smallest space God has placed all the senses ofthe body; and it is in the face that we see, as in a glass, darkly, allthat can be seen of the invisible soul within. "

[Illustration: _Hilary wondered and mused_]

The companions listened marvelling, but Hilary marvelled no less thanthey. 

"It is well answered, " said the lady, "and yet it seemed to me therewas one thing more excellent. But let me ask again: What earth isnearest to heaven?"

Again Hilary mused and was silent. Then, once more, the voice whichwas his voice and yet spoke words which he did not think to speak, gavethe answer: "The body of Him who died on the tree to save us, for Hewas of our flesh, and our flesh is earth of the earth. "

"That too is well answered, " said the lady, who had grown pale andgazed on the Bishop with great gloomy eyes; "and yet I had thought ofanother answer. Once more let me question you: What is the distancebetween heaven and earth?"

Then for the third time was Hilary unable to reply, but the voiceanswered for him, in stern and menaceful tones: "Who can tell us thatmore certainly than Lucifer who fell from heaven?"

With a bitter cry the Lady Pelagia rose from her seat, and raised herbeautiful white arms above her head; but the voice continued: "Breatheon her, Hilary--breathe the breath of the name of Christ!"

And the Bishop, rising, breathed on the white lovely face the breath ofthe holy name; and in an instant the starry eyes were darkened, and thespirit and flower of life perished in her sweet body; and thecompanions saw no longer the Lady Pelagia, but in her stead a statue ofwhite marble. At a glance Hilary knew it for a statue of the goddesswhom men in Rome called Venus and in Greece Aphrodite, and with ashudder he remembered that another of her names was Pelagia, the Ladyof the Sea. But, swifter even than that thought, it seemed to them asthough the statue were smitten by an invisible hand, for it reeled andfell, shattered to fragments; and the lights were extinguished, and theair of the summer night blew upon their faces, and in the east, whencecometh our hope, there was a glimmer of dawn. 

Praying fervently, and bewailing the brief joy they had taken in thebeauty of that dreadful goddess, they waited for light to guide themfrom that evil place. 

When the day broadened they perceived that they were in the midst ofthe ruins of an ancient Roman city, overgrown with bush and tree. Around them lay, amid beds of nettles and great dock leaves, and darneland tangles of briars, and tall foxgloves and deadly nightshade, thebroken pillars of a marble temple. This had been the fair house, litwith lamps, wherein they had sat at feast. Close beside them werescattered the white fragments of the image of the beautiful Temptress. 

As they turned to depart three grey wolves snarled at them from theruins, but an unseen hand held these in leash, and Hilary and hiscompanions went on their way unharmed. 

The Dream of the White Lark

This was a thing that happened long and long ago, in the glimmeringmorning of the Christian time in Erinn. And it may have happened tothe holy Maedog of Ferns, or to Enan the Angelic, or it may have beenMolasius of Devenish--I cannot say. But over the windy sea in hissmall curragh of bull's hide the Saint sailed far away to the southernland; and for many a month he travelled afoot through the dark forests, and the sunny corn-lands, and over the snowy mountain horns, and alongthe low shores between the olive-grey hills and the blue sea, till atlast he came in sight of a great and beautiful city glittering on theslopes and ridges of seven hills. 

"What golden city may this be?" he asked of the dark-eyed market folkwhom he met on the long straight road which led across the open country. 

"It is the city of Rome, " they answered him, wondering at hisignorance. But the Saint, when he heard those words, fell on his kneesand kissed the ground. 

"Hail to thee, most holy city!" he cried; "hail, thou queen of theworld, red with the roses of the martyrs and white with the lilies ofthe virgins; hail, blessed goal of my long wandering!"

And as he entered the city his eyes were bright with joy, and his heartseemed to lift his weary feet on wings of gladness. 

There he sojourned through the autumn and the winter, visiting all thegreat churches and the burial-places of the early Christians in theCatacombs, and communing with the good and wise men in many houses ofreligion. Once he conversed with the great Pope whose name wasGregory, and told him of his brethren in the beloved isle in thewestern waters. 

When once more the leaf of the fig-tree opened its five fingers, andthe silvery bud of the vine began to unfurl, the Saint prepared toreturn home. And once more he went to the mighty Pope, to take hisleave and to ask a blessing for himself and his brethren, and to begthat he might bear away with him to the brotherhood some precious relicof those who had shed their blood for the Cross. 

As he made that request in the green shadowy garden on the HillCaelian, the Pope smiled, and, taking a clod of common earth from thesoil, gave it to the Saint, saying, "Then take this with thee, " andwhen the Saint expressed his surprise at so strange a relic, theServant of the Servants of God took back the earth and crushed it inhis hand, and with amazement the Saint saw that blood began to tricklefrom it between the fingers of the Pope. 

Marvelling greatly, the Saint kissed the holy pontiff's hand, and badehim farewell; and going to and fro among those he knew, he collectedmoney, and, hiring a ship, he filled it with the earth of Rome, andsailed westward through the Midland Sea, and bent his course towardsthe steadfast star in the north, and so at last reached the belovedgreen island of his home. 

In the little graveyard about the fair church of his brotherhood hespread the earth which had drunk the blood of the martyrs, so that thebodies of those who died in the Lord might await His coming in ablessed peace. 

Now it happened that but a few days after his return the friend of hisboyhood, a holy brother who had long shared with him the companionshipof the cloister, migrated from this light, and when the last requiemhad been sung and the sacred earth had covered in the dead, the Saintwept bitterly for the sake of the lost love and the unforgotten years. 

And at night he fell asleep, still weeping for sorrow. And in hissleep he saw, as in a dream, the grey stone church with its round towerand the graveyard sheltered by the woody hills; but behold! in thegraveyard tall trees sprang in lofty spires from the earth of Rome, andreached into the highest heavens; and these trees were like trees ofgreen and golden and ruddy fire, for they were red with the blossoms oflife, and every green leaf quivered with bliss, like a green flame; andamong the trees, on a grassy sod at their feet, sat a white lark, singing clear and loud, and he knew that the lark was the soul of thefriend of his boyhood. 

As he listened to its song, he understood its unearthly music; andthese were the words of its singing: "Do not weep any more for me; itis pity for thy sorrow which keeps me here on the grass. If thou wertnot so unhappy I should fly. "

And when the Saint awoke his grief had fallen from him, and he wept nomore for the dead man whom he loved. 

The Hermit of the Pillar

On one of the hills near the city of Ancyra Basil the hermit stood dayand night on a pillar of stone forty feet high, praying and weeping forhis own sins and for the sins of the world. 

A gaunt, dark figure, far up in the blue Asian sky, he stood there fora sign and a warning to all men that our earthly life is short, whetherfor wickedness or repentance; that the gladness and the splendour ofthe world are but a fleeting pageant; that in but a little while thenations should tremble before the coming of the Lord in His power andmajesty. Little heed did the rich and dissolute people of that citygive to his cry of doom; and of the vast crowds who came about the footof his pillar, the greater number thought but to gaze on the wonder ofa day, though some few did pitch their tents hard by, and spent thetime of their sojourn in prayer and the lamentation of hearts humbledand contrite. 

[Illustration: _A gaunt, dark figure, far up in the blue Asian sky_]

Now, in the third year of his testimony, as Basil was rapt in devotion, with hands and face uplifted to the great silent stars, an Angel, clothed in silver and the blue-green of the night, stood in front ofhim in the air, and said: "Descend from thy pillar, and get thee awayfar westward; and there thou shalt learn what is for thy good. "

Without delay or doubt Basil descended, and stole away alone in thehush before the new day, and took the winding ways of the hills, andthereafter went down into the low country of the plain to seaward. 

After long journeying among places and people unknown, he crossed therunning seas which part the eastern world from the world of the west, and reached the City of the Golden Horn, Byzantium; and there for fourmonths he lived on a pillar overlooking the city and the narrow seas, and cried his cry of doom and torment. At the end of the fourth monththe Angel once more came to him and bade him descend and go further. 

So with patience and constancy of soul he departed between night andlight, and pursued his way for many months till he had got to theancient city of Treves. There, among the ruins of a temple of theheathen goddess Diana, he found a vast pillar of marble still erect, and the top of this he thought to make his home and holy watch-tower. Wherefore he sought out the Bishop of the city and asked his leave andblessing, and the Bishop, marvelling greatly at his zeal and austerity, gave his consent. 

The people of Treves were amazed at what they considered his madness;but they gave him no hindrance, nor did they molest him in any way. Indeed, in no long time the fame of his penance was noised abroad, andmultitudes came, as they had come at Ancyra, to see with their own eyeswhat there was of truth in the strange story they had heard. Afterwards, too, many came out of sorrow for sin and an ardent desireof holiness; and others brought their sick and maimed and afflicted, inthe hope that the Hermit might be able to cure their ailments, or givethem assuagement of their sufferings. Many of these, in truth, Basilsent away cleansed and made whole by the virtue of his touch or of theblessing he bestowed upon them. 

Now, though there were many pillar-hermits in the far eastern land, this was the first that had ever been seen in the west, and after himthere were but few others. 

A strange and well-nigh incredible thing it seemed, to look upon thisman on the height of his pillar, preaching and praying constantly, andenduring night and day the inclemency of the seasons and the wearinessand discomfort of his narrow standing place. For the pillar, massiveas it was, was so narrow where the marble curved over in big acanthusleaves at the four corners that he had not room to lie down at lengthto sleep; and indeed he slept but little, considering slumber a wasteof the time of prayer, and the dreams of sleep so many temptations tobeguile the soul into false and fugitive pleasures. No shelter wasthere from the wind, but he was bare as a stone in the field to thedriving rain and the blaze of the sun at noon; and in winter the frostwas bitter to flesh and blood, and the snow fell like flakes or whitefire. His only clothing was a coat of sheepskin; about his neck hung aheavy chain of iron, in token that he was a thrall and bondsman of theLord Christ, and each Friday he wore an iron crown of thorns, inpainful memory of Christ's passion and His sorrowful death upon thetree. Once a day he ate a little rye bread, and once he drank a littlewater. 

No man could say whether he was young or aged; and the mother who hadborne him a little babe at her bosom, and had watched him grow toboyhood, could not have recognised him, for he had been burnt black bythe sun and the frost, and the weather had bleached his hair and beardtill they looked like lichens on an ancient forest-tree, and the crownof thorns had scarred his brow, and the links of the chain had galledhis neck and shoulders. 

For three summers and three winters he endured this stricken life withcheerful fortitude, counting his sufferings as great gain if throughthem he might secure the crown of celestial glory which God has wovenfor His elect. Remembering all his prayers and supplications, and thelong martyrdom of his body, it was hard for him, at times, to resistthe assurance that he must have won a golden seat among the blessed. 

"For who, O Lord Christ!" he cried, with trembling hands outstretched, and dim eyes weeping, "who hath taken up Thy cross as I have done, andthe anguish of the thorns and the nails, and the parched sorrow of Thythirst, and the wounding of Thy blessed body, and borne them for yearstwenty and three, and shown them as I have shown them to the sun andstars and the four winds, high up between heaven and earth, that menmight be drawn to Thee, and carried them across the world from theoutmost East to the outmost West? Surely, Lord God! Thou hast writtenmy name in Thy Book of Life, and hast set for me a happy place in theheavens. Surely, all I have and am I have given Thee; and all that aworm of the earth may do have I done! If in anything I have failed, show me, Lord, I beseech Thee, wherein I have come short. If any manthere be more worthy in Thine eyes, let me, too, set eyes upon him, that I may learn of him how I may the better please Thee. Teach me, Lord, that which I know not, for Thou alone knowest and art wise!"

As Basil was praying thus in the hour before dawn, once more the Angel, clothed in silver and blue-green, as though it had been a semblance ofthe starry night, came to him, and said: "Give me thy hand;" and Basiltouched the hand celestial, and the Angel drew him from his pillar, andplaced him on the ground, and said: "This is that land of the west inwhich thou art to learn what is for thy good. Take for staff thispiece of tree, and follow this road till thou reachest the thirdmilestone; and there, in the early light, thou shalt meet him who caninstruct thee. For a sign, thou shalt know the man by the little maidof seven years who helpeth him to drive the geese. But the man, thoughyoung, may teach one who is older than he, and he is one who is greatlypleasing in God's eyes. "

The clear light was glittering on the dewy grass and the wet busheswhen Basil reached the third milestone. He heard the distant sound asof a shepherd piping, and he saw that the road in front of him wascrowded for near upon a quarter of a mile with a great gathering ofgeese--fully two thousand they numbered--feeding in the grass andrushes, and cackling, and hustling each other aside, and clacking theirbig orange-coloured bills, as they waddled slowly onward towards thecity. 

Among them walked a nut-brown little maiden of seven, clad in a greenwoollen tunic, with bright flaxen hair and innocent blue eyes, and barebrown legs, and feet shod in shoes of hide. In her hand she carried along hazel wand, with which she kept in rule the large grey and whitegeese. 

As the flock came up to the Hermit, she gazed at him with her sweetwondering eyes, for never had she seen so strange and awful a man asthis, with his sheepskin dress and iron chain and crown of thorns, andskin burnt black, and bleached hair and dark brows stained with blood. For a moment she stood still in awe and fear, but the Hermit raised hishand, and blessed her, and smiled upon her; and even in that worn anddisfigured face the light in the Hermit's eyes as he smiled was tenderand beautiful; and the child ceased to fear, and passed slowly along, still gazing at him and smiling in return. 

In the rear of the great multitude of geese came a churl, tall andyoung, and comely enough for all his embrowning in the sun and wind, and his unkempt hair and rude dress. It was he who made the music, playing on pan's-pipes to lighten the way, and quickening with hisstaff the loiterers of his flock. 

When he perceived the Hermit he stayed his playing, for he bethoughthim, Is not this the saintly man of whose strange penance and miraclesof healing the folk talk in rustic huts and hamlets far scattered? Butwhen they drew nigh to each other, the Hermit bowed low to theGooseherd, and addressed him: "Give me leave to speak a little withthee, good brother; for an Angel of heaven hath told me of thee, andfain would I converse with thee. Twenty years and three have I servedthe King of Glory in supplication and fasting and tribulation ofspirit, and yet I lack that which thou canst teach me. Now tell me, Ibeseech thee, what works, what austerities, what prayers have made theeso acceptable to God. "

A dark flush rose on the Goose-herd's cheeks as he listened, but whenhe answered it was in a grave and quiet voice: "It ill becomes an agedman to mock and jeer at the young, nor is it more seemly that the holyshould gibe at the poor. "

"Dear son in Christ, " said the Hermit, "I do not gibe or mock at thee. By the truth of the blessed tree, I was told of thee by an Angel in thevery night which is now over and gone, and was bidden to question thee. Wherefore be not wrathful, but answer me truly, I beg of thy charity. "

The Goose-herd shook his head. "This is a matter beyond me, " hereplied. "All my work, since thou askest of my work, hath been thetending and rearing of geese and driving them to market. From the goodmarsh lands at the foot of the hills out west I drive them, and thedistance is not small, for, sleeping and resting by boulder and tree, for five days are we on the way. Slow of foot goeth your goose when hegoeth not by water, and it profits neither master nor herd to stintthem of their green food. And all my prayer hath been that I might getthem safe to market, none missing or fallen dead by the way, and that Imight sell them speedily and at good price, and so back to the fensagain. What more is there to say?"

"In thy humility thou hidest something from me, " said the Hermit, andhe fixed his eyes thoughtfully on the young man's face. 

"Nay, I have told thee all that is worth the telling. "

"Then hast thou always lived this life?" the Hermit asked. 

"Ever since I was a small lad--such a one as the little maid in front, and she will be in her seventh year, or it may be a little older. Before me was my father goose-herd; and he taught me the windings ofthe journey to the city, and the best resting-places, and the ways ofgeese, and the meaning of their cries, and what pleaseth them andserveth flesh and feather, and how they should be driven. And now, inturn, I teach the child, for there be goose-girls as well as men. "

"Is she then thy young sister, or may it be that she is thy daughter?"

"Neither young sister nor daughter is she, " replied the Herd, "and yetin truth she is both sister and daughter. "

"Wilt thou tell me how that may be?" asked the Hermit. 

"It is shortly told, " said the Herd. "Robbers broke into their poorand lonely house by the roadside and slew father and mother and leftthem dead, but the babe at the breast they had not slain, and this wasshe. "

"Didst thou find her?" asked the Hermit. 

"Ay, on a happy day I found her; a feeble little thing bleating like alambkin forlorn beside its dead dam. "

"And thy wife, belike, or thy mother, reared her?"

"Nay, " said the Herd, "for my mother was dead, and no wife have I. Ireared her myself--my little white gooseling; and she throve and waxedstrong of heart and limb, and merry and brown of favour, as thou hastseen. "

"Thou must have been thyself scantly a man in those days, " said theHermit. 

"Younger than to-day, " replied the Herd; "but I was ever big of limband plentiful of my inches. "

"And hath she not been often since a burthen to thee, and a wearinessin the years?"

"She hath been a care in the cold winter, and a sorrow in her sicknesswith her teeth--for no man, I wot, can help a small child when theteeth come through the gum, and she can but cry ah! ah! and hath nowords to tell what she aileth. "

"Why didst thou do all this?" asked the Hermit. "What hath been thyreward? Or for what reward dost thou look?"

The Goose-herd looked at him blankly for a moment; then his facebrightened. "Surely, " he said, "to see her as she goes on her way, abright, brown little living thing, with her clear hair and glad eyes, is a goodly reward. And a goodly reward is it to think of her growth, and to mind me of the days when she could not walk and I bore herwhithersoever I went; and of the days when she could but take falteringsteps and was soon fain to climb into my arms and sit upon my neck; andof the days when we first fared together with the geese to market and Icut her her first hazel stick; and in truth of all the days that shehath been with me since I found her. "

As the Goose-herd spoke the tears rose in the Hermit's eyes and rolledslowly down his cheeks; and when the young man ceased, he said: "O son, now I know why thou art so pleasing in the eyes of God. Early hastthou learned the love which gives all and asks nothing, which sufferethlong and is ever kind, and this I have not learned. A small thing andtoo common it seemed to me, but now I see that it is holier thanausterities, and availeth more than fasting, and is the prayer ofprayers. Late have I sought thee, thou ancient truth, late have Ifound thee, thou ancient beauty; yet even in the gloaming of my daysmay there still be light enough to win my way home. Farewell, goodbrother; and be God tender and pitiful to thee as thou hast been tenderand pitiful to the little child. "

"Farewell, holy man!" replied the Herd, regarding him with a perplexedlook, for the life and austerities of the Hermit were a mystery hecould not understand. 

Then going on his way, he laid the pan's-pipes to his lips and whistleda pleasant music as he strode after his geese. 

Kenach's Little Woman

As the holy season of Lent drew nigh, the Abbot Kenach felt a longingsuch as a bird of passage feels in the south when the first littlesilvery buds on the willow begin here to break their ruddy sheaths, andthe bird thinks to-morrow it will be time to fly over-seas to the landwhere it builds its nest in pleasant croft or under the shelter ofhomely eaves. And Kenach said, "Levabo oculos--I will lift up mineeyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help;" for every year it washis custom to leave his abbey and fare through the woods to thehermitage on the mountain-side, so that he might spend the forty daysof fasting and prayer in the heart of solitude. 

Now on the day which is called the Wednesday or Ashes he set out, butfirst he heard the mass of remembrance and led his monks to the altarsteps, and knelt there in great humility to let the priest sign hisforehead with a cross of ashes. And on the forehead of each of themonks the ashes were smeared in the form of a cross, and each time thepriest made the sign he repeated the words, "Remember, man, that thouart dust, and unto dust thou shalt return. "

So with the ashes still on his brow and with the remembrance of the endof earthly days in his soul, he bent his steps towards the hermitage;and as he was now an aged man and nowise strong, Diarmait, one of theyounger brethren, accompanied him in case any mischance should befall. 

They passed through the cold forest, where green there was none, unlessit were the patches of moss and the lichens on the rugged tree-trunksand tufts of last year's grass, but here and there the white blossomsof the snowdrops peered out. The dead grey leaves and dry twigscrackled and snapped under their feet with such a noise as a wood firemakes when it is newly lighted; and that was all the warmth they had ontheir wayfaring. 

The short February day was closing in as they climbed among theboulders and withered bracken on the mountainside, and at last reachedthe entrance of a cavern hollowed in the rock and fringed with ivy. This was the hermitage. The Abbot hung his bell on a thick ivy-boughin the mouth of the cave; and they knelt and recited vespers andcompline; and thrice the Abbot struck the bell to scare away the evilspirits of the night; and they entered and lay down to rest. 

Hard was the way of their sleeping; for they lay not on wool or ondown, neither on heather or bracken, nor yet on dry leaves, but theirsides came against the cold stone, and under the head of each there wasa stone for pillow. But being weary with the long journey they sleptsound, and felt nothing of the icy mouth of the wind blowing down themountain-side. 

Within an hour of daybreak, when the moon was setting, they wereawakened by the wonderful singing of a bird, and they rose for matinsand strove not to listen, but so strangely sweet was the sound in thekeen moonlight morning that they could not forbear. The moon set, andstill in the dark sang the bird, and the grey light came, and the birdceased; and when it was white day they saw that all the ground andevery stalk of bracken was hoary with frost, and every ivy-leaf wascrusted white round the edge, but within the edge it was all glossygreen. 

"What bird is this that sings so sweet before day in the bitter cold?"said the Abbot. "Surely no bird at all, but an Angel from heavenwaking us from the death of sleep. "

"It is the blackbird, Domine Abbas, " said the young monk; "often theysing thus in February, however cold it may be. "

"O soul, O Diarmait, is it not wonderful that the senseless smallcreatures should praise God so sweetly in the dark, and in the lightbefore the dark, while we are fain to lie warm and forget His praise?"And afterwards he said, "Gladly could I have listened to that singing, even till to-morrow was a day; and yet it was but the singing of alittle earth wrapped in a handful of feathers. O soul, tell me what itmust be to listen to the singing of an Angel, a portion of heavenwrapped in the glory of God's love!"

Of the forty days thirty went by, and oftentimes now, when no windblew, it was bright and delightsome among the rocks, for the sun wasgaining strength, and the days were growing longer, and the brown treeswere being speckled with numberless tiny buds of white and pale green, and wild flowers were springing between the boulders and through themountain turf. 

Hard by the cave there was a low wall of rock covered with ivy, and asDiarmait chanced to walk near it, a brown bird darted out from amongthe leaves. The young monk looked at the place from which it hadflown, and behold! among the leaves and the hairy sinews of the ivythere was a nest lined with grass, and in the nest there were threeeggs--pale-green with reddish spots. And Diarmait knew the bird andknew the eggs, and he told the Abbot, who came noiselessly, and lookedwith a great love at the open house and the three eggs of the motherblackbird. 

"Let us not walk too near, my son, " he said, "lest we scare the motherfrom her brood, and so silence beforehand some of the music of the coldhours before the day. " And he lifted his hand and blessed the nest andthe bird, saying, "And He shall bless thy bread and thy water. " Afterthat it was very seldom they went near the ivy. 

Now after days of clear and benign weather a shrill wind broke out frombeneath the North Star, and brought with it snow and sleet and piercingcold. And the woods howled for distress of the storm, and the greystones of the mountain chattered with discomfort. Harsh cold andsleeplessness were their lot in the cave, and as he shivered, the Abbotbethought him of the blackbird in her nest, and of the wet flakesdriving in between the leaves of the ivy and stinging her brown wingsand patient bosom. And lifting his head from his pillow of stone heprayed the Lord of the elements to have the bird in His gentle care, saying, "How excellent is Thy loving-kindness, O God! therefore thechildren of men put their trust under the shadow of Thy wings. "

Then after a little while he said, "Look out into the night, O son, andtell me if yet the storm be abated. "

And Diarmait, shuddering, went to the mouth of the cavern, and stoodthere gazing and calling in a low voice, "Domine Abbas! My Lord Abbot!My Lord Abbot!"

Kenach rose quickly and went to him, and as they looked out the sleetbeat on their faces, but in the midst of the storm there was a space oflight, as though it were moonshine, and the light streamed from anAngel, who stood near the wall of rock with outspread wings, andsheltered the blackbird's nest from the wintry blast. 

And the monks gazed at the shining loveliness of the Angel, till thewind fell and the snow ceased and the light faded away and the sharpstars came out and the night was still. 

Now at sundown of the day that followed, when the Abbot was in thecave, the young monk, standing among the rocks, saw approaching a womanwho carried a child in her arms; and crossing himself he cried aloud toher, "Come not any nearer; turn thy face to the forest, and go down. "

[Illustration: _Come not any nearer; turn thy face to the forest, andgo down_]

"Nay, " replied the woman, "for we seek shelter for the night, and foodand the solace of fire for the little one. "

"Go down, go down, " cried Diarmait; "no woman may come to thishermitage. "

"How canst thou say that, O monk?" said the woman. "Was the LordChrist any worse than thou? Christ came to redeem woman no less thanto redeem man. Not less did He suffer for the sake of woman than forthe sake of man. Women gave service and tendance to Him and HisApostles. A woman it was who bore Him, else had men been left forlorn. It was a man who betrayed Him with a kiss; a woman it was who washedHis feet with tears. It was a man who smote Him with a reed, but awoman who broke the alabaster box of precious ointment. It was a manwho thrice denied Him; a woman stood by His cross. It was a woman towhom He first spoke on Easter morn, but a man thrust his hand into Hisside and put his finger in the prints of the nails before he wouldbelieve. And not less than men do women enter the heavenly kingdom. Why then shouldst thou drive my little child and me from thy hermitage?"

Then Kenach, who had heard all that was said, came forth from the cave, and blessed the woman. "Well hast thou spoken, O daughter; come, andbring the small child with thee. " And, turning to the young monk, hesaid, "O soul, O son, O Diarmait, did not God send His Angel out ofhigh heaven to shelter the mother bird? And was not that, too, alittle woman in feathers? But now hasten, and gather wood and leaves, and strike fire from the flint, and make a hearth before the cave, thatthe woman may rest and the boy have the comfort of the bright flame. "

This was soon done, and by the fire sat the woman eating a littlebarley bread; but the child, who had no will to eat came round to theold man, and held out two soft hands to him. And the Abbot caught himup from the ground to his breast, and kissed his golden head, saying, "God bless thee sweet little son, and give thee a good life and ahappy, and strength of thy small body, and, if it be His holy will, length of glad days; and ever mayest thou be a gladness and deep joy tothy mother. "

Then, seeing that the woman was strangely clad in an outland garb ofred and blue, and that she was tall, with a golden-hued skin and oliveeyes, arched eyebrows very black, aquiline nose, and a rosy mouth, hesaid, "Surely, O daughter, thou art not of this land of Erinn in thesea, but art come out of the great world beyond?"

"Indeed, then, we have travelled far, " replied the woman; "as thousayest, out of the great world beyond. And now the twilight deepensupon us. "

"Thou shalt sleep safe in the cave, O daughter, but we will rest hereby the embers. My cloak of goats' hair shalt thou have, and such drybracken and soft bushes as may be found. "

"There is no need, " said the woman, "mere shelter is enough;" and sheadded in a low voice, "Often has my little son had no bed wherein hemight lie. "

Then she stretched out her arms to the boy, and once more the littleone kissed the Abbot, and as he passed by Diarmait he put the palms ofhis hands against the face of the young monk, and said laughingly, "Ido not think thou hadst any ill-will to us, though thou wert rough anddidst threaten to drive us away into the woods. "

And the woman lifted the boy on her arm, and rose and went towards thecavern; and when she was in the shadow of the rocks she turned towardsthe monks beside the fire, and said, "My son bids me thank you. "

They looked up, and what was their astonishment to see a heavenly gloryshining about the woman and her child in the gloom of the cave. And inhis left hand the child carried a little golden image of the world, andround his head was a starry radiance, and his right hand was raised inblessing. 

For such a while as it takes the shadow of a cloud to run across arippling field of corn, for so long the vision remained; and then itmelted into the darkness, even as a rainbow melts away into the rain. 

On his face fell the Abbot, weeping for joy beyond words; but Diarmaitwas seized with fear and trembling till he remembered the way in whichthe child had pressed warm palms against his face and forgiven him. 

The story of these things was whispered abroad, and ever since, in thatpart of Erinn in the sea, the mother blackbird is called Kenach'sLittle Woman. 

And as for the stone on which the fire was lighted in front of thecave, rain rises quickly from it in mist and leaves it dry, and snowmay not lie upon it, and even in the dead of winter it is warm totouch. And to this day it is called the Stone of Holy Companionship. 

Golden Apples and Roses Red

In the cruel days of old, when Diocletian was the Master of the World, and the believers in the Cross were maimed, and tortured with fire, andtorn with iron hooks, and cast to the lions, and beheaded with thesword, Dorothea, a beautiful maiden of Caesarea, was brought beforeSapricius, the Governor of Cappadocia, and commanded to forsake theLord Christ and offer incense to the images of the false gods. 

Though she was so young and so fair and tender, she stood unmoved bythreats and entreaties, and when, with little pity on her youth andloveliness, Sapricius menaced her with the torment of the iron bed overa slow fire, she replied: "Do with me as you will. No pain shall Ifear, so firm is my trust in Him for whom I am ready to die. "

"Who, then, is this that has won thy love?" asked the Governor. 

"It is Christ Jesus, the Son of God. Slay me, and I shall but thesooner be with Him in His Paradise, where there is no more pain, neither sorrow, but the tears are wiped from all eyes, and the rosesare in bloom alway, and for ever the fruit of joy is on the trees. "

"Thy words are but the babbling of madness, " said the Governor angrily. 

"I am not mad, most noble Sapricius. "

[Illustration: "_I am not mad, most noble Sapricius_"]

"Here, then, is the incense, sacrifice, and save thy life. "

"I will not sacrifice, " replied Dorothea. 

"Then shalt thou die, " said Sapricius; and he bade the doomsman takeher to the place of execution and strike off her head. 

Now as she was being led away from the judgment-seat, a gay youngadvocate named Theophilus said to her jestingly: "Farewell, sweetDorothea: when thou hast joined thy lover, wilt thou not send me someof the fruit and roses of his Paradise?"

Looking gravely and gently at him, Dorothea answered: "I will sendsome. "

Whereupon Theophilus laughed merrily, and went his way homeward. 

At the place of execution, Dorothea begged the doomsman to tarry alittle, and kneeling by the block, she raised her hands to heaven andprayed earnestly. At that moment a fair child stood beside her, holding in his hand a basket containing three golden apples and threered roses. 

"Take these to Theophilus, I pray thee, " she said to the child, "andtell him Dorothea awaits him in the Paradise whence they came. "

Then she bowed her head, and the sword of the doomsman fell. 

Mark now what follows. 

Theophilus, who had reached home, was still telling of what hadhappened and merrily repeating his jest about the fruit and flowers ofParadise, when suddenly, while he was speaking, the child appearedbefore him with the apples and the roses. "Dorothea, " he said, "hassent me to thee with these, and she awaits thee in the garden. " Andstraightway the child vanished. 

The fragrance of those heavenly roses filled Theophilus with a strangepity and gladness; and, eating of the fruit of the Angels, he felt hisheart made new within him, so that he, also, became a servant of theLord Jesus, and suffered death for His name, and thus attained to thecelestial garden. 

Centuries after her martyrdom, the body of Dorothea was laid in abronze shrine richly inlaid with gold and jewels in the church built inher honour beyond Tiber, in the seven-hilled city of Rome. 

There it lay in the days when Waldo was a brother at the Priory ofThree Fountains, among the wooded folds of the Taunus Hills; and everyseven years the shrine was opened that the faithful might gaze on themaiden martyr of Caesarea. 

An exceeding great love and devotion did Waldo bear this holy virgin, whom he had chosen for his patroness, and one of his most ardent wisheswas that he might some day visit the church beyond Tiber, and kneel bythe shrine which contained her precious relics. In summer the redroses, in autumn the bright apples on the tree, reminded him of her; inthe spring he thought of her youth and beauty joyously surrendered toChrist, and the snow in winter spoke to him of her spotless innocence. Thus through the round of the year the remembrance of her was presentabout him in fair suggestions; and indeed had there been any lack ofthese every gift of God would have recalled her to his mind, for wasnot that--"the gift of God"--her name?

Notwithstanding his youth, Waldo was ripe in learning, well skilled inLatin and Greek, and so gifted beyond measure in poetry and music thatpeople said he had heard the singing of Angels and had brought the echoof it to the earth. His hymns and sacred songs were known and lovedall through the German land, and far beyond. The children sang them inthe processions on the high feast days, the peasants sang them at theirwork in house or field, travellers sang them as they journeyed over thelong heaths and through the mountain-forests, fishers and raftsmen sangthem on the rivers. He composed the Song of the Sickle which cuts at astroke the corn in its ripeness and the wild flower in its bloom, andthe Song of the Mill-wheel, with its long creak and quick clap, and themelodious rush of water from the buckets of the wheel, and many anotherwhich it would take long to tell of; but that which to himself wassweetest and dearest was Golden Apples and Roses Red, the song in whichhe told the legend of St. Dorothea his patroness. 

Now when Waldo was in the six-and-thirtieth year of his age he wassmitten with leprosy; and when it was found that neither the relics ofthe saints, nor the prayers of holy men, nor the skill of the physicianavailed to cure him, but that it was God's will he should endure to theend, the Prior entreated him to surrender himself to that blessed will, and to go forth courageously to the new life of isolation which awaitedhim. For in those days it was not lawful that a leper should abide inthe companionship of men, and he was set apart lest his malady shouldbring others to a misery like his own. 

Deep was the grief of the brethren of Three Fountains when they weresummoned to attend the sacred office of demission which was to shut outWaldo for ever from intercourse with his fellows. And well might anygood heart sorrow, for this was the order of that office. 

The altar was draped in black, and Mass for the Dead was sung; and allthe things that Waldo would need in the house of his exile, from theflint and iron which gave fire to the harp which should give solace, were solemnly blessed and delivered to him. Next he was warned not toapproach the dwellings of men, or to wash in running streams, or tohandle the ropes of draw-wells, or to drink from the cups of waysidesprings. He was forbidden the highways, and when he went abroad aclapper must give token of his coming and going. Nothing that might beused by others should he touch except with covered hands. 

When after these warnings he had been exhorted to patience and trust inGod's mercy and love, the brethren formed a procession, with the crossgoing before, and led him away to his hermitage among the wooded hills. On a little wood-lawn, beyond a brook crossed by stepping-stones, a hutof boughs had been prepared for him, and the Prior bade him mark thegrey boulder on the further side of the brook, for there he would findleft for him, week by week, such provisions as he needed. 

Last rite of all, the Prior entering the hut strewed over his bed ofbracken a handful of mould from the churchyard saying, "Sis mortuusmundo--Dead be thou to the world, but living anew to God, " and turfsfrom the churchyard were laid on the roof of the hut. Thus in his greygown and hood was Waldo committed alive to his grave, and the brethren, chanting a requiem, returned to the Priory. 

The tidings of Waldo's grievous lot travelled far and wide through theGerman land, and thenceforth when his songs were sung many a true man'sheart was heavy and many a good woman's eyes were filled with tears asthey bethought them of the poor singer in his hut among the hills. Kindly souls brought alms and provisions and laid them on his boulderby the brook, and oftentimes as they came and went they sang some hymnor song he had composed, for they said, "So best can we let him knowthat we remember him and love him. " Indeed, to his gentle heart thesound of their human voices in that solitude was as the warm clasp of abeloved hand. 

When Waldo had lived there alone among the hills for the space of twoyears and more, and his malady had grown exceeding hard to bear, he wasseized with a woeful longing--such a longing as comes upon a littlechild for its mother when it has been left all alone in the house, andhas gone seeking her in all the chambers, and finds she is not there. And as on a day he went slowly down to the boulder by the stream in thefailing light, thinking of her who had cherished his childhood--how hehad clung to her gown, how with his little hand in hers he had run byher side, how she had taken him on her lap and made his hurts all wellwith kisses, his heart failed him, and crying aloud "Mother, O mother!"he knelt by the boulder, and laid his head on his arms, weeping. 

Then from among the trees on the further side of the brook came amaiden running, but she paused at the stepping-stones when she sawWaldo, and said, "Was it thy voice I heard calling 'Mother'?"

The monk did not answer or move. 

"Art thou Brother Waldo?" she asked. 

Raising his head, he looked at her and replied, "I am Brother Waldo. "

"Poor brother, I pity thee, " said the maiden; "there is no man or maidbut pities thee. If thou wilt tell me of thy mother, I will find her, even were I to travel far, and bid her come to thee. Well I wot shewill come to thee if she may. "

For all his manhood and learning and holiness, Waldo could not stillthe crying of the little child within him, and he told the maiden ofhis mother, and blessed her, and asked her name. When she answeredthat it was Dorothy, "Truly, " said he, "it is a fair name and gracious, and in thy coming thou hast been a gift of God to me. "

Thereupon the maiden left him, and Waldo returned to his hut, comfortedand full of hope. 

After a month had gone Dorothy returned. Crossing the stepping-stonesin the clear light of the early morning, she found Waldo meditating bythe door of his hut. 

"I have done thy bidding, brother, " she said in a gentle voice, "butalas! thy mother cannot come to thee. Grieve not too much at this, forshe is with God. She must have died about the time thou didst call forher; and well may I believe that it was she who sent me to thee in herstead. "

"The will of God be done, " said Waldo, and he bowed his head, and spokeno more for a long while; but the maiden stood patiently awaiting tillhe had mastered his grief. 

At length he raised his head and saw her. "Art thou not gone?" heasked. "I thought thou hadst gone. Thou art good and gentle, and Ithank thee. Go now, for here thou mayst not stay. "

"Nay, brother, " replied Dorothy, "thou hast no mother to come to theenow, no companion or friend to minister to thee. This is my place. Donot fear that I shall annoy or weary thee. I shall but serve and obeythee, coming and going at thy bidding. Truly thou art too weak andafflicted to be left any more alone. "

"It may not be, dear child. Thy father and mother or others of thykinsfolk need thee at home. "

"All these have been long dead, " said Dorothy, "and I am alone. Herein the wood I will find me a hollow tree, and thou shalt but call tohave me by thee, and but lift a finger to see me no more. "

"Why wouldst thou do this for me?" asked Waldo, wondering at herpersistency. 

"Ah, brother, I know thy suffering and I love thy songs. "

"And dost thou not shudder at this horror that is upon me, and dreadlest the like befall thee too?"

Then Dorothy laughed low and softly to herself, and answered only so. 

In this wise the maiden came to minister to the poor recluse, and sogracious was she and humble, so prudent and yet so tender, that in hissuffering she was great solace to him, bringing his food from theboulder and his drink from the brook, cleaning his cell and fresheningit with fragrant herbs; and about the cell she made a garden ofwholesome plants and wild flowers, and all kindly service that waswithin her power she did for him. 

So beautiful was she and of such exceeding sweetness, that when hiseyes rested upon her, he questioned in his mind whether she was a truewoman and not an Angel sent down to console him in his dereliction. And that doubt perplexed and troubled him, for so little are we Angelsyet that in our aches and sorrows of the flesh it is not the comfort ofAngels but the poor human pitiful touch of the fellow-creature that wemost yearn for. Once, indeed, he asked her fretfully, "Tell me trulyin the name of God, art thou a very woman of flesh and blood?"

"Truly then, brother, " she answered, smiling, "I am of mortal flesh andblood even as thou art, and time shall be when this body that thouseest will be mingled with the dust of the earth. "

"Is it then the way of women to sacrifice so much for men as thou hastdone for me?"

"It is the way of women who love well, " said Dorothy. 

"Then needs must I thank thy namesake and my patroness in heaven, "rejoined Waldo. 

"Yea, and is St. Dorothea thy patroness?" asked the maiden. 

Waldo told her that so it was, and rapturously he spoke of the youngand beautiful saint done to death in Caesarea, and of the fruit andflowers of Paradise which she sent to Theophilus. "And I would, " hesighed under his breath, "that she would send such a gift to me. "

"All this I know, " said Dorothy, "for I have learnt thy song of GoldenApples and Roses Red, and I love it most of all thy songs, though thesebe many and sung all about the world, I think. And this I will tellthee of thy songs, that I saw in a dream once how they were not merewords and melody, but living things. Like the bright heads of babyAngels were they, and they were carried on wings as it were ofrose-leaves, and they fluttered about the people who loved them andsang them, leading them into blessed paths and whispering to them holyand happy thoughts. "

"God be blessed and praised for ever, if it be so, " said Waldo; "butthis was no more than a maiden's dream. "

For two winters Dorothy ministered to the poor leper, and during thiswhile no one save Waldo knew of her being in the woods, and no otherman set eyes on her. The fourth year of his exile was now drawing to aclose, and Waldo had fallen into extreme weakness by reason of hismalady, and over his face he wore a mask of grey cloth, with two holesfor his great piteous eyes. It was in the springtide, and one night ashe lay sleepless in the dark, listening to the long murmur of the windin the swaying pines, he heard overhead sharp cries and trumpetings, and the creaking and winnowing of wings innumerable. 

Rising from his bed, he went out of doors, and looked up into the darkheavens; and high and spectral among the clouded stars he saw thehome-coming of the cranes. He sat on the bench beside his door, andwatched them sail past in thousands, filling the night with a fleetingclamour and eerie sounds. As he sat he mused on the strange longingwhich brought these birds over land and sea back home, year by year, with the returning spring, and he marvelled that the souls of men, which are but birds of passage in these earthly fields, should be soslow to feel that longing for their true home-land. 

That day when Dorothy came to the hut, he said to her: "It is well tobe glad, for, though the air is still keen, the spring is here. Iheard the cranes returning in the night. "

"And I too heard them; and I heard thee rejoicing, playing on thy harpand singing. "

"That could not be, sister, " said Waldo, "unless in a dream. No longercan I touch harp-string, as thou knowest. "

"In truth I was awake and heard, " said Dorothy; "and the song thou wastsinging was of birds of passage, and of the longing of exiles to gohome, and of the dark wherethrough we must pass, with cries and beatingwings, ere we can find our way back to our true home-land. '"

"Nay, it must have been a dream, " said Waldo, "for as I sat with myhands hidden in my gown I did but play an imaginary harp, making stillmusic in my heart, and no song came from my lips. "

"The more strange that I should hear!" replied Dorothy, smiling as shewent her way. 

In a little while from this the poor brother felt that the end of hismartyrdom drew nigh; and as he lay feeble and faint in the shadow ofthe hut (for the day was clement), sighing for the hour of hisdeliverance, Dorothy came from the woods. In her hand she carried abasket, and as she stood over him she said, "See what I have broughtfor thee. "

Lifting his head weakly, and looking through the eyelets of his greymask, Waldo saw that the basket contained three golden apples and threered roses, though still it was but early days in spring. At sight ofthem he uttered a cry of gladness (for all it was a cry hollow andhoarse), and strove to rise and throw himself at her feet. 

"Nay, brother, " she said, "refrain; lie still and breathe the sweetnessof the roses and taste of the fruit. "

She gave him one of the apples, and putting it to his mouth he tastedit and sighed deeply. In a moment all pain and suffering had left him, and his spirit was light and gladsome. His eyes too were opened, sothat he knew that Dorothy had no way deceived him, but was truly aliving woman of flesh and blood like himself. Then a heavenly peacedescended upon him like a refreshing dew, and he closed his eyes forthe great ease he felt. 

While these things were happening, came from Three Fountains thelay-brother who brought Waldo his provisions. Crossing the brook toset his budget on the boulder, he saw the poor recluse lying in the leeof the hut, and Dorothy leaning over him. Wherefore he hastened acrossthe wood-lawn, but in an instant the fair woman vanished before hiseyes, and when he came to the hut he saw that Waldo was dead. Hecarried the basket of flowers and fruit to the Priory, and told what hehad seen; and the Prior, marvelling greatly, came to the place and gavethe poor leper brother a blessed burial. 

Now at this time a wondrous strange occurrence was the talk of Rome. 

The year wherein Waldo died was that seventh year in which the shrineof St. Dorothea is opened in her church beyond Tiber; and the day onwhich it is opened fell a little while before the death of Waldo. 

Behold, then, when on the vigil of that feast the priests unlocked theshrine, the place where aforetime the holy body of the martyr had lainwas empty. Great was the dismay, loud the lamentation, grievous thesuspicion. The custodians of the church and the shrine were seized andcast into prison, where they lay till the day of their trial. On themorning of that day the church of St. Dorothea was filled with a divinefragrance, which seemed to transpire from the empty shrine as from acelestial flower. Wherefore once again the shrine was opened, andthere, even such as they had been seen by many of the faithful sevenyears before, lay the relics of the Saint in their old resting-place. 

Now to all poor souls God grant a no less happy end of days than thiswhich He vouchsafed to the poor leper-singer Waldo of the Priory ofThree Fountains. 

The Seven Years of Seeking

Here begins the chapter of the Seven Years of Seeking. 

For, trying greatly to win sight of that blessed isle, the EarthlyParadise, the monk Serapion and his eleven companions hoisted sail; andfor seven years they continued in that seeking, wandering with littlerespite under cloud and star, in all the ways of the sea of ocean whichgoeth round the world. 

[Now this chapter was read of evenings in the refectory at supper, inthe winter of the Great Snow. While the drifts without lay fathom-deepin sheltered places, and the snow was settling on the weather-side ofthings in long slopes like white pent-houses, the community listenedwith rapt attention, picturing to themselves the slanting ship, and thered sail of skins with its yellow cross in the midst, and themarvellous vision of vast waters, and the strange islands. Thensuddenly the Prior would strike the table, and according to the customthe reader would close his book with the words, "Tu autem, Domine--Butdo Thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us!" and the monks would rise, withinterest still keen in the wanderings of the Sea-farers. 

Seeing that it would be of little profit to break up the reading as thePrior was wont to break it up, I will give the story here without pauseor hindrance, as though it had all been read in a single evening atsupper, and keep my "Tu autem" for the end of all. And truly it is atthe end of all that most there is need of that prayer. So without moreado. ]

Serapion and his companions were, all save one, monks of the Abbey ofthe Holy Face. Not the first Abbey of that name, in the warm greenwoods in the western creek of Broce-Liande, but the second, which isnearer to the sunrise. For the site of the first Abbey was mostdelightful, and so sheltered from the weary wind of the west, and soopen to the radiance of the morning, that, save it were Paradise, noman could come at a place so gracious and delectable. There earliestbroke the land into leaf and blossom; and there the leaf was last tofall; and there one could not die, not even the very aged. Wherefore, in order that the long years of their pilgrimage might be shortened, the brethren prevailed on the Abbot to remove to another site, nearerthe spring of the day; and in this new house, one by one in due season, they were caught up to the repose of the heavens, the aged fathersdying first, as is seemly. 

This then was the second Abbey of the Holy Face, and its pleasant woodsran down to the shore of the sea. And going east or going west, wherethe green billow shades into blue water, the ships of the mariners keptpassing and repassing day after day; and their sails seemed to cast anenchanted shadow across the cloister; and the monks, as they watchedthem leaning over to the breeze, dreamed of the wondrous Garden ofEden, which had not been swallowed up by the Deluge, but had been savedas an isle inviolate amid the fountains of the great deep; and theyasked each other whether not one of all these sea-farers would everbring back a fruit or a flower or a leaf from the arbours of delight inwhich our first parents had dwelt. They spoke of the voyage of Brendanthe Saint, and of the exceeding loveliness of the Earthly Paradise, andof the deep bliss of breathing its air celestial, till it needed littleto set many of them off on a like perilous adventure. 

Of all the brethren Serapion was the most eager to begin that seeking. And this was what brought him to it at last. 

There came to the Abbey on a day in spring that youthful Bishop ofArimathea who in after time made such great fame in the world. Talland stately was he, and black-bearded; a guest pleasant and wise, andripe with the experience of distant travel and converse with many chiefmen. Now he was on his way to the great house of Glastonbury oversea, to bring back with him, if he might be so fortunate, the body of thesaint of his city who had helped our Lord to bear His cross on the WayDolorous; or, if that were an issue beyond his skill, at least someprecious memorial of that saint. 

Many things worthy of remembrance he told of what he had seen andheard; and no small marvel did it seem to speak with one who had stoodon Mount Sinai in the wilderness. From the top of that mountain, hesaid, one looked down on a region stretching to the Red Sea, and in themidst of the plain there is a monastery of saintly recluses, but no mancan discover any track that leads to it. Faint and far away the bellsare heard tolling for prime, it may be, or vespers, and it is believedthat now and again some weary traveller has reached it, but no one hasever returned. The Ishmaelites, who dwell in the wilderness, haveridden long in search of it, guided by the sound of the bells, butnever have they succeeded in catching a gleam of its white walls amongthe palm-trees, nor yet of the green palms. The Abbot of that house, it is said, is none other than the little child whom our Lord set inthe midst of His Disciples, saying, "Except ye become as littlechildren, " and he will abide on the earth till our Lord's return, andthen shall he enter into the kingdom with Him, without tasting death. 

Speaking of the holy places, Calvary, it might be, or the Garden ofOlives and the sepulchre of the Lord, and of the pilgrims who visitedthese, he repeated to us the saying of the saintly Father Hieronymus:"To live in Jerusalem is not a very holy thing, but to live a holy lifein Jerusalem. " And walking with many of our brethren on the shore ofthe sea and seeing the sails of the ships as they went by, hequestioned us of the wonders of the great waters, and of sea-faring, and of the last edge of the living earth, and he said: "Tell me, youwho abide within sight of so many ships, and who hear continually thesong of the great creature Sea, how would it fare with one who shouldsail westward and keep that one course constantly?"

We said that we knew not; it were like he would perish of famine orthirst, or be whelmed in the deep. 

"Ay, " he said, "but if he were well provisioned, with no lack of foodand water, and the weather held fair?"

That we could not answer, for it seemed to us that such a one wouldlose heart and hope in the roofless waste, with never a stone or tree, nor any shadow save a cloud's, and turn back dismayed; but Serapionreplied: "To me it appears, your Discretion, that so bold a mariner, ifyears failed him not, might win to the Earthly Paradise. "

"So have I heard, " said the Bishop. "Yet here would you be sailinginto the west, and for a certainty the Paradise of God was in the east. How would you give a reasonable account of this?"

But we could make no reply, for we knew not; nor Serapion more than we. 

"Now, watching the sea, " said the Bishop, "you have marked the ships, how they go. When they come to you, they first show the mast-top, thenthe sail, and last the body of the ship, and perchance the sweep of theoars, reverse-wise when they depart from you, you first fail to see thebody of the ship, and then the sail, but longest you hold in sight themast-top, or it may be a bright streamer flying therefrom, or a crossglittering in the light--though these be but small things compared withthe body of the ship. Is it not so?"

We answered, readily enough, that so it was. 

"Is it not then even as though one were to watch a wayfarer onhorse-back, going or coming over the green bulge of a low hill? Werehe coming to you, you would first see the head of the rider, and lastthe legs of the horse, and were he riding away the horse would first godown over the hill, but still, for a little, you would see the manwaving his hand in farewell as he sank lower and lower. "

Such indeed, we said, was the fashion of a ship's coming and going. 

"Does it not then seem a likely thing, " said his Discretion, "that thesea is in the nature of a long low hill, down which the ships go? Sohave I heard it surmised by wise men, sages and scholars of the lightsof heaven, in the cities of Greece and Egypt. For the earth and theocean-sea, they teach, is fashioned as a vast globe in the heights ofheaven. And truly, if indeed it be the shadow of the world whichdarkens the face of the moon in time of eclipse, the earth may well beround, for that shadow is round. Thus, then, one holding ever awestward course might sail down the bulge of the sea, and under theworld, and round about even unto the east, if there be sea-way allalong that course. "

Silently we listened to so strange a matter, but the Bishop traced forus on the sand a figure of the earth. "And here, " said he, "is thisland of ours, and here the sea, and here the bulge of ocean, and here aship sailing westward; and here in the east is the Earthly Paradise;and mark now how the ship fareth onward ever on the one courseunchanged, till it cometh to that blessed place. "

Truly this was a wondrous teaching; and when we questioned how they whosailed could escape falling out and perishing, they and indeed theirship, when they came so far down the round sea that they hung headsnethermost, his Discretion laughed: "Nay, if the sea, which the windbreaketh and lifteth and bloweth about in grey showers, fall not out, neither will the ship, nor yet the mariners; for the Lord God hath soordered it that wheresoever mariners be, there the sea shall seem tothem no less flat than a great grass-meadow when the wind swings thegrass; and if they hang head downward they know not of it; but rather, seeing over them the sun and the clouds, they might well pity our evilcase, deeming it was we who were hanging heads nethermost. "

Now this and suchlike converse with the Bishop so moved Serapion thathe lost the quietude of soul and the deep gladness of heart which arethe portion of the cloister. Day and night his thought was flyingunder sail across the sea towards the Earthly Paradise, and othersthere were who were of one longing with him. Wherefore at last theyprayed leave of the Abbot to build a ship and to try the venture. 

The Abbot consented, but when they besought him to go with them and tolead them, he shook his head smiling, and answered: "Nay, children, Iam an aged man, little fitted for such a labour. Wiser is it for me tolean my staff against my fig-tree, and have in mind the eternal years. Moreover, as you know, many are the sons in this house who look to mefor fatherly care. But if it be your wish, one shall go with you to bethe twelfth of your company. In hours of peril and perplexity andneed, if such should befall you, you shall bid him pray earnestly, andafter he has prayed, heed what he shall say, even as you would heed thewords of your Abbot. No better Abbot and counsellor could you have, for he hath still preserved his baptismal innocence. It is Ambrose, the little chorister. "

Serapion and the others wondered at this, but readily they accepted theAbbot's choice of a companion. 

Think now of the ship as built--a goodly ship of stout timber framecovered two-ply with hides seasoned and sea-worthy, well found inprovisions against a long voyage, fitted with sturdy mast of pine andbroad sail. And think of the Mass as sung, with special prayer to Himwho is the confidence of them that are afar off upon the sea. Andthink of the leave-taking and blessing as over and done, and of theSea-farers as all aboard, eleven brethren and Ambrose the chorister, alittle lad of nine summers. 

Now all is cast loose, and the red sail is drawn up the mast and setpuffing, and the ship goes out, dipping and springing, into the deep. On the shore the religious stand watching; and Serapion is at therudder, steering and glancing back; and the others aboard are wavinghands landward; and on a thwart beside the mast stands the little lad, and at a sign from Serapion he lifts up his clear sweet voice, singingjoyfully the _Kyrie eleison_ of the Litany. The eleven join in theglad song, and it is caught up by the voices of those on shore, asthough it were by an organ; and as he sings the lad Ambrose watches thewhite ruffled wake-water of the ship, how it streams between theunbroken green sea on either hand, and it seems to him most like therunning of a shallow brook when it goes ruffling over the pebbles inthe greenwood. 

To those on ship and to those on shore the song of each grew a fainterhearing as the distance widened; and the magnitude of the shiplessened; and first the hull went down the bulge of the ocean, and nextthe sail; and long ere it was sunset all trace of the Sea-farers hadvanished away. 

Now is this company of twelve gone forth into the great waters; farfrom the beloved house of the Holy Face are they gone, and far from theblithesome green aspect of the good earth; and no man of them knowethwhat bane or blessing is in store for him, or whether he shall everagain tread on grass or ground. A little tearfully they think of theirdear cloister-mates, but they are high of heart nothing the less. Their ship is their garth, and cloister, and choir, wherein they praiseGod with full voices through all the hours from matins to compline. 

Of the bright weather and fresh wind which carried them westward manydays it would be tedious to tell, and indeed little that was strangedid they see at that time, save it were a small bird flying highathwart their course, and a tree, with its branches and green leavesunlopped, which lay in the swing of the wave; but whither and whencethe bird was flying, or where that tree grew in soil, they could notguess. 

Of what happened to them in the course of their seeking, even of thatthe telling must be brief, flitting from one event to another, even asthe small Peter-bird flits from the top of one wave to the top ofanother, nor wets foot or feather in the marbled sea between; elsewould the story of the seeking linger out the full seven years of theseeking. 

The first trial that befell them was dense wintry fog, in the dusk ofwhich they lay with lowered sail on a sullen sea for a day and a night. When the change came, it brought with it the blowing of a fierce galewith a plague of sleet and hail-stones, and they were chased out of thefog, and driven far into the south. 

Great billows followed them as they ran, and broke about the stern ofthe ship in fountains of freezing spray which drenched them to theskin. Little ease had they in their sea-faring in that long race withthe north wind, for every moment they looked to have the mast torn upby the root and the frame-work of the ship broken asunder. The saltsurf quenched their fire and mingled their bread with bitterness. 

Aching they were and weary, and sorrowful enough to sleep, when thetempest abated, and the sun returned, and the sea rolled in long glassyswells. 

As the sun blazed out, and the sea glittered over all his tracklessways, Serapion said to the chorister: "Ha, little brother, 'tis good, is it not? to see the bright sun once more. His face is as the face ofan Angel to us. "

The lad looked at him curiously, but made no answer. 

"Art thou ailing, or sad, or home-sick, little one, that thou hastnought to say?" asked Serapion. 

"Nay, father, I was but thinking of thy words, that the face of the sunis as the face of an Angel. "

"Ay! And is it not so?"

"Nay, father. When I have seen the sun at sunrise and at sunset I haveever seen a ring of splendid Angels, and in the midst of the ring thesnow-white Lamb with his red cross, and the Angels were movingconstantly around the Lamb, joyfully glittering; and that was the sun. But as it rose into the heavens the Angels dazzled mine eyes so that Icould see them no more, nor yet the Lamb, for very brightness. Is thesun then otherwise than what I see?"

Then was it Serapion's turn to muse, and he answered:

"To thy young eyes which be clear and strong--yet try them notovermuch--it is doubtless as thou sayest; but we who are older havelost the piercing sight, and to us the sun is but a great and wonderfulsplendour which dazzles us before we can descry either the Angels orthe Lamb. "

Meanwhile the Sea-farers ate and drank and spread their raiment to dry, and some were oppressed by the memory of the hardships they hadendured; but Serapion, going among them, cheered them with talk of theEarthly Paradise, and of the joy it would be, when they had wonthither, to think of the evil chances through which they had passed. In a low tone he also spoke to them of their small companion and hisvision of the sun. 

"Truly, " he said, "it is as our Father Abbot told us--he has not losthis baptismal innocence, nor hath he lost all knowledge of the heavenfrom which he came. "

As he was speaking thus, one of the brethren rose up with a cry, and, shading his eyes with his hand, pointed into the west. Far away in theshimmer of the sea and the clouds they perceived an outline of land, and they changed their course a little to come to it. The wind carriedthem bravely on, and they began to distinguish blue rounded hills andridges, and a little later green woodland, and still later, on the edgeof twilight, the white gleam of waters, and glimpses of open lawnstinged with the colour of grasses in flower. 

With beating hearts they leaned on the low bulwark of the ship, drinking in the beauty of the island. 

Then out of a leafy creek shot a boat of white and gold; and though itwas far off, the air was so crystalline that they saw it was garlandedwith fresh leaves, and red and yellow and blue blossoms; and in itthere were many lovely forms, clothed in white and crowned with wreathsrose-coloured and golden. 

When the Sea-farers perceived that the boat glided towards them withoutsail or oar, they said among themselves, "These are assuredly thespirits of the Blessed;" and when suddenly the boat paused in itscourse, and the islanders began a sweet song, and the brethren caughtthe words and knew them for Latin, they were fain to believe that theyhad, by special grace and after brief tribulations, got within sight ofthe shore they sought. 

The song was one of a longing for peace and deep sleep and dreamful joyand love in the valleys of the isle; and it bade the Sea-farers come tothem, and take repose after cold and hunger and toil on the sea. Tearsof gladness ran down the cheeks of several of the Seekers as theylistened, and one of them cried aloud: "O brothers, we have come far, but it is worth the danger and the suffering to hear this welcome ofthe Blessed. "

Now the small chorister, who was standing by Serapion at the helm, touched the father's sleeve, and asked in a low voice: "Have I leave tosing in answer?"

"Sing, little son, " Serapion replied. 

Then, ringing the blessed bell of the Sea-farers, the child intoned theevening hymn:

 _Te lucis ante terminum--_ _Before the waning of the light. _

The instant his fresh young voice was heard singing that holy hymn, theflower-garlands about the boat broke into ghastly flames, and wreathedit with a dreadful burning; and the radiant figures were changed intodark shapes crowned with fire; and the song of longing and love becamea wailing and gnashing of teeth. The island vanished away in rollingsmoke; and the boat burned down like a darkening ember; and theSea-farers in their ship were once more alone in the wilderness ofwaters. 

Long they prayed that night, praising God that they had escaped thesnares and enchantments of the fiends. And Serapion, drawing the ladto him, kissed him, saying: "God be with thee, little brother, in thyuprising and thy down-lying! God be with thee, little son!"

After this they were again driven into the south for many a day, andsaw no earthly shore, but everywhere unending waters. A greatwonderment to them was this immensity of the sea of ocean, wherein theland seemed a little thing lost for ever. And ever as they droveonward, the pilot star of the north was steadfast no longer, but sanklower and still lower in the heavens, and many of the everlastinglights, which at home they had seen swing round it through the livelongnight, were now sunken, as it were, in the billows. 

"Truly, " said Serapion, "it is even as his Discretion the Bishop toldus; whether east we sail or west, or cross-wise north and south, theearth is of the figure of a ball. In a little while it may be that weshall see the pilot star no more;" and he was sorely troubled in hismind as to how they should steer thereafter with no beacon in heaven toguide them, and how they would make their way back to the Abbey of theHoly Face. 

In their wandering they set eyes on a thing well-nighincredible--nothing less than fishes rising from the depths of the sea, and flying like birds over the ship, and diving into the sea again, andyet again rising into the air and disporting themselves in the sun. Atnight, too, they beheld about the ship trails of fire in the sea, crossing and re-crossing each other, and the fire marked the ways ofhuge blue fishes, swift and terrible; and the Sea-farers prayed thatthese malignant searchers of the deep might not rise into the air andfall ravening upon them while they slept. In the darkness strangepatches and tangles of light, blue and golden and emerald, floated pastthem, and these they discovered were living creatures to which theycould give no names. Often also the sea was alive with fire, whichflashed and ran along the ridges of the waves when they curled andbroke, and many a night the sides of the ship were washed with flame, but this fire was wet and cold, and nowise hurt a hand of those whotouched it. 

At last on a clear morning the little chorister came hastily toSerapion and said: "Look, father, is not yon a glimmer of the heavenlyland we seek?"

"Nay, little son, it is but grey cloud that has not yet caught thesun, " replied Serapion. 

"That, indeed, is cloud; but look higher, father. See how white andsharp it shines!"

Then Serapion lifted up his eyes above the cloud, and in mid heaventhere floated as it were a great rock of pointed crystal, white andunearthly. Serapion's eyes brightened with eagerness, and theSea-farers gazed long at the peak, which rather seemed a star, or aheadland on some celestial shore, so bright and dreamlike was it and somagically poised in the high air. 

All day they sailed towards it, and sometimes it vanished from theirview, but it returned constantly. On the third day they came to thatland. Bright and beautiful it was to their sea-wearied eyes; and of asurety no land is there that goes so nearly to heaven. For it rose ingreen and flowery heights till it was lost in a ring of duskysea-cloud; and through this vast ring of cloud it pierced its way, andthe Sea-farers saw it emerge and stand clear above the cloud, bluishwith the distance. And higher still it rose, and entered a secondgreat cloud-ring, but this ring was white; and once more it emergedfrom the cloud-ring, and high over all towered the pyramid of shiningstone. 

"Well might it be that Angels often alight on this soaring mountain, "said Serapion, "and leave it glittering with their footprints. If lifeand strength be given us, thither we also shall climb, and praise Godin the lofty places of the earth which He has made. "

They steered the ship into a sunny bay, and Serapion having blessed thesea and the shore, they landed right joyfully. Drawing the ship highon the beach, they chose a little grove of palm-trees beside a shallowstream for their church and cloister; but they had not been long inthat spot before they saw the islanders gliding through the wood andpeering out at them in great amaze. Serapion went forth to them, smiling and beckoning them to approach, but they fled and would notabide his coming. So Serapion returned, and the Sea-farers madethemselves such a home as they might, and rested a little from theirtoiling. 

When the day had come to evening, and the brethren were chantingvespers, the islanders returned, many hundreds of them, men and women, dusky of skin but comely and bright-eyed, and for all their raimentthey wore garlands of blossoms and girdles of woven leaves. Close theycame to the Sea-farers, and gazed at them, and the boldest touchedthem, as though to assure themselves that these were living mortalslike unto themselves. But when they saw the little chorister, with hisfair white face and childish blue eyes and sunny hair, they turned toeach other with exclamations and uncouth gestures of pleasure andwonderment. Then they hurried away and brought strange and delightfulfruit--berries, and fruit in a skin yellow and curved like a sicklemoon, and big nuts full of water sweet and cool, and these they laidbefore the lad. Wreaths of flowers, too, they wove for him, and putthem on his head and about his neck, as though they were rejoiced tosee him and could not make too much of him. The brethren were light ofheart that they had come to an isle so gracious and a folk so simpleand loving. 

Sleep, sweet as dews of Paradise, fell upon their weariness that night, and they rose refreshed and glad for matins, which they chanted by thelight of large and radiant stars flashing down through the palms. Whathappened that day, however, the Sea-farers did not wholly understandtill long afterwards, when they had learned the speech of the people;but out of their later knowledge I shall here make it plain. 

Now in the olden time the mighty mountain of this island had been aburning mountain, and even now, in a huge craggy cup beneath theglittering peak, there was a vast well of fire and molten rock; and thepeak and well were the lair of an evil spirit so strong and terriblethat each year the island folk gave him a child to appease him, lest inhis malignant mood he should let the well overflow and consume themwith its waters of fire. 

Wherefore, as this was the season of the sacrifice, the islandersseeing the little chorister, how fair and beautiful he was, deemed hewould be a more acceptable offering to the spirit of evil than one oftheir children, whom they were heart-sick of slaying. On this day, therefore, they came at dawn, and with many gestures and much strangespeech led away the lad, and with gentle force kept the brethren apartfrom him, though they suffered them to follow. 

In a little while the child was clothed with flowers and leaves likeone of themselves, and in the midst of a great crowd singing abarbarous strain, he was borne on a litter of boughs up the ascent ofthe mountain. Many times they paused and rested in the heat, and theday was far spent when they reached the foot of the lofty peak. Therethey passed the night, but though the brethren strove to force theirway to the lad, they were restrained by the strength of the multitude, and they knew that violence was useless. Again in the twilight beforedawn the islanders resumed the journey and came to the edge of thecraggy cup, in the depths of which bubbled the well of fire. 

Silently they stood on the brink, looking towards the east; but theSea-farers, who now deemed only too well that their little brother wasabout to be sacrificed to Moloch, cast themselves on their knees, andwith tears running down their faces, raised their hands in supplicationto heaven. But with a loud voice Serapion cried: "Fear not, dear son;for the Lord can save thee from the mouth of the lion, and hear theefrom the horns of the unicorns. " The little chorister answered: "Prayfor my soul, Father Serapion; for my body I have no fear, even thoughthey cast me into the pit. "

In the streaming east the rays of light were springing ever morebrilliantly over the clear sea; two strong men held the lad and liftedhim from the ground; an aged islander--a priest, it seemed, of thatevil spirit--white-haired and crowned with flowers, watched the skywith dull eyes; and as the sun came up with a rush of splendour, hecalled aloud: "God of the mountain-fire, take this life we give thee, and be good and friendly to us. "

Then was little Ambrose the chorister swung twice to and fro, andhurled far out into the rocky cup of the well of fire. And a wild cryarose from the crowd: "Take this life, take this life!"--but even asthat cry was being uttered the lad was stayed in his fall, and he stoodon the air over the fiery well, as though the air had been turned tosolid crystal, and he ran on the air across the abyss to the brethren, and Serapion caught him in his arms and folded him to his breast. 

Then fell a deep stillness and dread upon the people, and what to dothey knew not; but the aged priest and the strong men who had flung theboy into the gulf came to the brethren, and casting themselves on theirfaces before the chorister, placed his foot on their heads. WhereforeSerapion surmised that they now took him for a youthful god or spiritmore powerful than the evil spirit of the fire. Touching them, hesigned to them to arise, and when they stood erect he pointed to theabyss, and gathering a handful of dust he threw it despitefully intothe well of fire, and afterwards spat into the depths. This show ofscorn and contumely greatly overawed the people, and (as was made knownafterwards) they looked on the Sea-farers as strong gods, merciful andmuch to be loved. 

Thrice did the Sea-farers hold Easter in that island, for there theyresolved to stay till they had learned the island speech, and freed thepeople from the bondage of demons, and taught them the worship of theone God who is in the heavens. 

Now though the wind blew with an icy mouth on that high peak, in therocks of the crater it was sheltered, and warm because of the innerfires of the mountain. So it was ordered that in turn one brothershould abide on the peak, and one in a cave midway down the mountain, and one on the slopes where the palms and orange-trees are rooted amongthe white-flowered sweet-scented broom. And each of these had a greattrumpet of bark, and when the first ray of light streamed out of theeast in the new day, the brother of the peak cried through his trumpetwith a mighty voice:

 _Laudetur Jesus Christus, _ _May Christ Jesus be praised, _

and the brother of the cave, having responded, _In saecula saeculorum, _ _World without end, _

cried mightily to the brother of the palms, "May Christ Jesus bepraised!"--and thus from the heights in the heavens to the shore of thesea. So, too, when the last light of the setting sun burned out on thewestern billows. 

Thus was the reign of the spirit of evil abolished, and the mountainconsecrated to the praise of Him who made the hills and the isles ofthe sea. 

In the strong light of the morning sun the shadow of that mountain iscast over the great sea of ocean further than a swift ship may sailwith a fair wind in two days and two nights; and a man placed on thepeak shall see that shadow suddenly rise up from the sea and stand overagainst the mountain, dark and menaceful, like the lost soul of amountain bearing testimony against its body before the judgment-seat ofGod; and this is a very awful sight. 

Now, having preached the Gospel, the Sea-farers strengthened their shipand launched into the deep after the third Eastertide, and havingcomforted the people, because they were grieved and mournful at theirdeparture, they left them in the keeping of the risen Lord, andcontinued their seeking. 

After this Brother Benedict, the oldest monk of their company, fell illwith grievous sickness, and sorely the Sea-farers longed for some shorewhere he might feel the good earth solid and at rest beneath him, andsee the green of growing things, and have the comfort of stillness andsilence. 

With astonishing patience he bore his malady, at no time repining, andspeaking never a word of complaint. When he was asked if he repentedhim of the adventure, he smiled gently. "Fain, indeed, " he said, "would I be laid to rest beneath the grass of our own garth, where thedear brethren, passing and repassing in the cloister, might look whereI lay and say an 'Our Father' for my soul. Yet in no way do I repentof our sailing, for we have seen the marvellous works of God; and ifthe Lord vouchsafe to be merciful to me, it may be that I shall see theHeavenly Paradise before you find the Earthly. " "God grant it, dearbrother, " said Serapion. 

On an afternoon they came to a small island walled about with highcliffs, red and brown, and at the foot of the cliffs a narrow beach ofruddy sand; but on the rocks grew no green thing, lichen or moss orgrass or shrub, and no sweet water came bickering down into the sea. 

On landing they discovered a gully in the cliffs which led inland, andstraightway explorers were sent to spy what manner of land it waswhereon they had fallen. Within the very mouth of the narrow pass theycame upon a small ship hollowed out of a tree gigantic, but it wasrotten and dry as touchwood, and wasting into dust. Within the shiplay the bones of a man, stretched out as though he had died in sleep. Outside the ship lay the bones of two others. The faces of these wereturned downward to the stones whereon they lay, but the man in the shiphad perished with his eyes fixed on the heavens. The oars and sailsand ropes were all dry and crumbling, and the raiment of the men hadmouldered away. 

In the length of that narrow pass between the lofty cliff-walls theSea-farers found no vestige of grass or weed, either on the cliff-sidesor on the stones and shingle. Neither was there any water, save wherein the hollows of some of the boulders rain had lodged and had not yetbeen drunk up by the sun. No living creature, great or small, lived inthat ghyll. 

Within the round of the sea-walls the island lay flat and low, and itwas one bleak waste of boulder and shingle, lifeless and waterless savefor the rain in the pitted surfaces of the stones; but in the midst ofthe waste there stood, dead and leafless, a vast gaunt tree, which atone time must have been a goodly show. When the Sea-farers reached it, they found lying on the dead turf about its roots the white bones ofyet four other men. 

Much they questioned and conjectured whence these ill-starred wanderershad come to lay their bones on so uncharitable a soil, and whether theyhad perished in seeking, like themselves, for the Earthly Paradise. "What, " sighed one, "if this were the Earthly Paradise, and yon theTree of Life!" But the others murmured and would not have it so. 

Yet to the sick man even this Isle of the Stones of Emptiness was aplace of rest and respite from the sea, --"It is still mother-earth, " hesaid, "though the mother be grown very old and there be no flesh lefton her bones"--and at first it seemed as though he was recovering inthe motionless stillness and in the great shadow of the cliffs. Something of this Serapion said to the little chorister, but the ladanswered: "Nay, father, do you not see how the man that used to lookout of his eyes has become a very little child--and of such is thekingdom of heaven?"

"Explain, little brother, " said Serapion. 

"Why, " said the lad, "is it not thus with men when they grow so old orsick that they be like to die--does one not see that the real selveswithin them look out of window with faces grown younger and smaller andmore joyous, till it may be that what was once a strong man, wise andgreat, is but a babbling babe which can scarce walk at all?"

"Who told thee these things?" asked Serapion. 

"No one has told me, " replied the lad, "but seeing the little childrenthus gazing out, and knowing that all who would enter into heaven mustbecome as they are, I thought it must needs be in this manner thatpeople change and pass away to God when the ending of life is come. "

On this isle the Sea-farers kept a Christmas, and they made such cheeras they might at that blessed time, speaking of the stony fieldswherein the Shepherds lay about their flocks, but no fields were everso stony as these which were littered with stones fathom-deep, withnever a grain of earth or blade of grass between. And in this isle itwas that Brother Benedict died, very peaceful, and without pain at theclose. On the feast of the Three Kings that poor monk was privilegedeven more than those Kings had been, for not only was the Babe ofHeaven made manifest to him, but his soul, a little child, went forthfrom him to be with that benign Babe for evermore. Under the dead treethe Sea-farers buried him, and on the trunk of the tree they fastened acrucifix on the side on which he reposed. 

The bones, too, of the dead men they gathered together and covered withstones in a hollow which they made. 

So they left the island, marvelling whence all those stones had come, and how they had been rained many and deep on that one place. Saidone, "It may be that these are the stones wherewith our Lord and theprophets and the blessed martyrs were stoned, laid up as in a treasuryto bear witness on the day of doom. " "It may be, " said another, "thatthese are the stones which Satan, tempting the Lord, bade Him turn intobread, and therefore are they kept for an evidence against thetempter. " "Peradventure these be the stony places, " said another, "whereon the good seed fell and perished in its first upspringing, andso they be kept for the admonishment of rash Sea-farers and such ashave no long-continuance in well-doing. " But no man among them wassatisfied as to the mystery of that strange isle. 

On many other shores they set foot. Most were fruitful and friendly;and they rested from their seeking, and repaired the ship, and took insuch stores as they might gather during their sojourn. Though often itbefell that while they were still afar the wind wafted them thefragrance of rare spices so that their eyes brightened and their facesreddened with joyful anticipation, yet ever when they landed they foundthat not yet, not yet had they reached the island garden of theirquest. Men, too, of the same fashion as themselves they met with onshores far apart, but strange were these of aspect and speech andmanner of life. With them they tarried as long as they might, gainingsome knowledge of their tongue, and revealing to them the true God andthe Lord crucified. 

In the latter time of their sea-faring they were blown far over thenorthern side of the great sea, in such wise that the pilot star burnedwell-nigh overhead in the heavens. Here they descried tall islands ofglittering rock, white and blue, crowned with minsters and castles andabbeys of glass, but they heard no sound of bells or of men's voices orof the stir of life. 

Once as they were swept along in near peril of wreck, through flyingsea-smoke and plagues of hail, they heard a strange unearthly musicrising and falling in the blast. Some said it was Angels sent tostrengthen them; others said it was wild birds which they had seenflying past in flocks; but Serapion said, "If it be Angels, blessed beGod; if it be birds, yet even they are God's Angels, lessoning us howwe shall praise Him, and sing Him a new song from the ends of theearth. " Then he raised his voice, singing the psalm

 _Laudate Dominum de caelis, _ _Praise ye the Lord from the heavens: praise Him in the heights, _

and the Sea-farers sang it with earnest voices and with hearts liftedup, and they were greatly encouraged. 

It was in these latitudes stormy and cold that, to their thinking, theSea-farers won nearest to the Earthly Paradise. For, far in the sidesof the north as, in the red sunlight, they coasted a lofty land whitewith snow-fields and blue with glacier ice, they entered a windingfjord, and found themselves in glassy water slumbering between greenslopes of summer. 

Down to the water's edge the shores were wooded with copses of dwarfbirch and willow, and the slopes were radiant with wildflowers--harebell and yellow crowfoot, purple heath and pink azalea andstarry saxifrage. A rosy light tinged the snow on the wintry heights;and over the edge of a cliff, far up the fjord, a glacier hung, andfrom beneath the ice a jet of water burst forth and fell foaming downthe precipice to the shore. When they landed they found the groundcovered thick with berries dark and luscious, and while they gatheredthese, a black and white snow-bunting flitted about them on its longwings. 

A miraculous thing was this garden of summer in the icy bosom ofwinter, but a greater marvel still was the undying sunshine on sea andshore. 

"In very truth, " said Serapion, "of all places we have yet seen is notthis most like to have been the blessed land, for is not even 'thenight light about us, ' and is it not with us as it is written of theHeavenly Jerusalem, 'there shall be no night there'?"

The Sea-farers took away with them many of the leaves and flowers ofthis country, and afterwards the scribes in the Scriptorium copied themin beautiful colours in the Golden Missal of the Abbey. 

This was the last of the unknown shores visited by the Sea-farers. Seven years had they pursued their seeking, and there now grew on themso strong a craving for home that they could gainsay it no longer. Wherefore it fell out that in the autumn-tide, when the stubble isbrown in the fields and the apple red on the bough; on the last day ofthe week, when toil comes to end; in the last light of the day, whenthe smoke curls up from the roof, they won their long sea-way home. 

[Illustration: _They won their long sea-way home_]

O beloved Abbey of the Holy Face, through tears they beheld thy walls, with rapture they kissed thy threshold!

"In all the great sea of ocean, " said Serapion, when he had told thestory of their wandering, "no such Earthly Paradise have we seen asthis dear Abbey of our own!"

"Dear brethren, " said the Abbot, "the seven years of your seeking havenot been wasted if you have truly learned so much. Far from home haveI never gone, but many things have come to me. To be ever, and to betranquilly, and to be joyously, and to be strenuously, and to bethankfully and humbly at one with the blessed will of God--that is theHeavenly Paradise; and each of us, by God's grace, may have that withinhim. And whoso hath within him the Heavenly Paradise, hath here andnow, and at all times and in every place, the true Earthly Paradiseround about him. "

Here ends the chapter of the Seven Years of Seeking. 

["But do Thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us, " chanted the Lector, as heclosed the book. And the Prior struck the board, and the brethrenarose and returned God thanks for the creatures of food and drink, andfor that Earthly Paradise, ever at their door, of tranquil and joyousand strenuous and thankful and humble acceptance of God's will. ]

The Guardians of the Door

There was once an orphan girl, far away in a little village on the edgeof the moors. She lived in a hovel thatched with reeds, and this wasthe poorest and the last of all the houses, and stood quite by itselfamong broom and whins by the wayside. 

From the doorway the girl could look across the wild stretches of themoorland; and that was pleasant enough on a summer day, for then theair is clear and golden, and the moor is purple with the bloom of theling, and there are red and yellow patches of bracken, and here andthere a rowan tree grows among the big grey boulders with clusters ofreddening berries. But at night, and especially on a winter night, thedarkness was so wide and so lonely that it was hard not to feel afraidsometimes. The wind, when it blew in the dark, was full of strange andmournful voices; and when there was no wind, Mary could hear the criesand calls of the wild creatures on the moor. 

Mary was fourteen when she lost her father. He was a rough idlegood-for-nothing, and one stormy night on his way home from the tavernhe went astray and was found dead in the snow. Her mother had diedwhen she was so small a child that Mary could scarcely remember herface. So it happened that she was left alone in the world, and all shepossessed was a dog, some fowls, and her mother's spinning wheel. 

But she was a bright, cheerful, courageous child, and soon she got fromthe people of the village sufficient work to keep her wheel alwaysbusy, for no one could look into her face without liking her. Peopleoften wondered how so rude and worthless a fellow could have had such achild; she was as sweet and unexpected as the white flowers on the bareand rugged branches of the blackthorn. 

Her hens laid well, and she sold all the eggs she could spare; and herdog, which had been trained in all sorts of cunning by her father, often brought her from the moors some wild thing in fur or featherswhich Mary thought there was no harm in cooking. 

Her father had been too idle and careless to teach her anything, andall that she could recollect of her mother's instruction was a littlerhyme which she used to repeat on her knees beside the bed every nightbefore she went to sleep. 

And this was the rhyme:

 _God bless this house from thatch to floor, _ _The twelve Apostles guard the door, _ _And four good Angels watch my bed, _ _Two at the foot and two the head. _ _Amen. _

[Illustration: "_And four good Angels watch my bed_"]

Though she was all alone in the world, and had no girl of her own ageto make friends with, she was happy and contented, for she was busyfrom morning till night. 

And yet in spite of all this, strange stories began to be whisperedabout the village. People who happened to pass by the old hut late atnight declared that they had seen light shining through the chinks inthe window-shutter when all honest people should have been asleep. There were others who said they had noticed strange men standing in theshadows of the eaves; they might have been highwaymen, they might havebeen smugglers--they could not tell, for no one had cared to run therisk of going too near--but it was quite certain that there werestrange things going on at the hut, and that the girl who seemed sosimple and innocent was not quite so good as the neighbours hadimagined. 

When the village gossip had reached the ears of the white-headed oldVicar, he sent for the girl and questioned her closely. Mary wasgrieved to learn that such untrue and unkind stories were told abouther. She knew nothing, she said, of any lights or of any men. As soonas it was too dusky to see to work she always fastened her door, andafter she had had her supper, she covered the fire and blew out therushlight and went to bed. 

"And you say your prayers, my daughter, I hope?" said the Vicar kindly. 

Mary hung down her head and answered in a low voice, "I do not know anyproper prayers, but I always say the words my mother taught me. "

And Mary repeated the rhyme:

 _God bless this house from thatch to floor, _ _The twelve Apostles guard the door, _ _And four good Angels watch my bed, _ _Two at the foot and two the head. _ _Amen. _

"There could not be a better prayer, dear child!" rejoined the Vicar, with a smile. "Go home now, and do not be troubled by what idletongues may say. Every night repeat your little prayer, and God willtake care of you. "

Late that night, however, the Vicar lit his lantern and went out ofdoors, without a word to any one. All the village was still and darkas he walked slowly up the road towards the moor. 

"She is a good girl, " he said to himself, "but people may have observedsomething which has given rise to these stories. I will go and seewith my own eyes. "

The stars were shining far away in the dark sky, and the green ploverswere crying mournfully on the dark moor. As he passed along thelantern swung out a dim light across the road, which had neither wallsnor hedges. 

"It is a lonely place for a child to live in by herself, " he thought. 

At last he perceived the outline of the old hovel, among the gorse andbroom, and the next moment he stopped suddenly, for there, as he hadbeen told, a thread of bright light came streaming through the shuttersof the small window. He drew his lantern under his cloak, andapproached cautiously. The road where he stood was now dim, but by thefaint glimmer of the stars he was able to make out that there wereseveral persons standing under the eaves, and apparently whisperingtogether. 

The Vicar's good old heart was filled with surprise and sorrow. Thenit suddenly grew hot with anger, and throwing aside his cloak andlifting up the lantern he advanced boldly to confront the intruders. But they were not at all alarmed, and they did not make any attempt toescape him. Then, as the light fell upon their forms and faces, whobut the Vicar was struck with awe and amazement, and stood gazing asstill as a stone!

The people under the eaves were men of another age and another world, strangely clothed in long garments, and majestic in appearance. Onecarried a lance, and another a pilgrim's staff, and a third abattle-axe; but the most imposing stood near the door of the hut, andin his hand he held two large keys. 

In an instant the Vicar had guessed who they were, and had uncoveredhis head and fallen on his knees; but the strangers melted slowly awayinto the darkness, as if they had been no more than the images of adream. And indeed the Vicar might have thought that he really had beendreaming but for the light which continued to stream through the chinkin the shutter. 

He arose from his knees and moved towards the window to peep into thehut. Instantly an invisible hand stretched a naked sword across hispath, and a low deep voice spoke to him in solemn warning:

"It is the light of Angels. Do not look, or blindness will fall uponyou, even as it fell upon me on the Damascus road. "

But the aged Vicar laid his hand on the sword, and tried to move itaway. 

"Let me look, let me look!" he said; "better one glimpse of the Angelsthan a thousand years of earthly sight. "

Then the sword yielded to his touch and vanished into air, and the oldpriest leaned forward on the window-sill and gazed through the chink. And with a cry of joy he saw a corner of the rude bed, and beside thecorner, one above the other, three great dazzling wings; they were theleft-hand side wings of one of the Angels at the foot of the bed. 

Then all was deep darkness. 

The Vicar thought that it was the blindness that had fallen upon him, but the only regret he felt was that the vision had vanished soquickly. Then, as he turned away, he found that not only had he notlost his sight, but that he could now see with a marvellous clearness. He saw the road, and even the foot-prints and grains of sand on theroad; the hut, and the reeds on the hut; the moor, and the boulders andthe rowan-trees on the moor. Everything was as distinct as if it hadbeen--not daylight, but as if the air were of the clear colour of anut-brown brook in summer. 

Praising God for all His goodness he returned home, and as he went helooked back once and again and yet again, and each time he saw thetwelve awful figures in strange clothing, guarding the lonely thatchedhovel on the edge of the moor. 

After this there were no more stories told of Mary, and no one evendared speak to her of the wonderful manner in which her prayer wasanswered, so that she never knew what the old Vicar had seen. But lateat night people would rather go a great way round than take the roadwhich passed by her poor hut. 

On the Shores of Longing

It was in the old forgotten days when all the western coast of Spainwas sprinkled with lonely hermitages among the rocks, and with holyhouses and towers of prayer; and this west coast was thought to be thelast and outermost edge of all land, for beyond there lay nothing butthe vast ocean stream and the sunset. There, in the west of the world, on the brink of the sea and the lights of the day that is done, livedthe men of God, looking for ever towards the east for the coming of theLord. Even the dead were laid in the place of their resurrection withtheir feet pointing to the morning, so that when they should arisetheir faces would be turned towards His coming. Thus it came to passthat the keen white wind out of the east was named the wind of the deadmen's feet. 

Now in one or these holy houses lived the monk Bresal of the Songs, whohad followed Sedulius the Bishop into Spain. 

Bresal had been sent thither to teach the brethren the music of thechoirs of the Isle of the Gael and to train the novices in chant andpsalmody, for of all singers the sweetest was he, and he could play onevery instrument of wind or string, and was skilled in all the modes ofminstrelsy. Thereto he knew by heart numberless hymns and songs andpoems, and God had given him the gift to make songs and hymns, andbeautiful airs for the singing of them. And for these things, so sweetand gentle was the nature of the man, he was greatly belovedwhithersoever he fared. 

A happy and holy life had he lived, but now he was growing old; and ashe looked from the convent on the cliffs far over the western waters, he thought daily more and more of Erinn, and a great longing grew uponhim to see once more that green isle in which he had been born. Andwhen he saw, far below, the ships of the sea-farers dragging slowlyaway into the north in the breezy sunshine or in the blue twilight, hiseyes became dim with the thought that perchance these wind-reddenedmariners might be steering for the shores of his longing. 

The Prior of the convent noticed his sadness and questioned him of thecause, and when Bresal told him, "Why should you go?" he asked. "Doyou not love us any longer?"

"Dearly do I love you, father, " replied Bresal, "and dearly this house, and every rock and tree and flower; but no son of the Isle of the Gaelforgets the little mother-lap of earth whereon he was nursed, or thesmell of the burning peat, or the song of the robin, or the drone ofthe big mottled wild bee, or the cry of the wild geese when the winteris nigh. Even Columba the holy pined for the lack of these things. This is what he says in one of the songs which he has left us:

 _There's an eye of grey_ _Looks back to Erinn far away;_ _Big tears wet that eye of grey_ _Seeking Erinn far away. "_

Now the Prior loved Bresal as Jonathan loved David; and though itgrieved him to part with him, he resolved that if it could be compassedBresal should go back to his own country. "But you must never forgetus, and when you are happy, far away from us, you must think of us andgive us your heart in prayer. "

"Never shall I forget you, father, " the Singer replied. "Indeed, itwill not be a strange thing if I shall long for you then even as I amlonging for my home now; for in truth, next to my home, most do I lovethe brethren of this house, and the very house itself, and the hillsand the sea and the dying lights of the evening. But I know that itwill not be permitted me ever to return. The place of my birth will bethe place of my resurrection. "

The Prior smiled, and laid his hand gently on the monk's shoulder: "OBresal, if it be within my power you shall have your will. "

So he sent messengers to Sedulius the Bishop; and Sedulius, who alsohad the Irish heart with its tears of longing, consented; and not manydays after the swallows and martins had gone flashing by into thenorth, Bresal of the Songs was free to follow as speedily as he might. 

Long was the way and weary the pilgrimage, but at last he reached thebeloved green Isle of the Gael, and fared into the south-west--and thisis the land in which it is told that Patrick the Saint celebrated Masson every seventh ridge he passed over. He came at sunset on the lastday of the week to the place of bells and cells among the rocks of thecoast of Kerry. In that blessed spot there is ever a service of Angelsascending and descending. And when he saw once more the turf dyke andthe wattled cells and the rude stone church of the brotherhood where hehad been a son of reading in his boyhood, and the land all quiet withthe labour of the week done, and the woods red with the last light ofthe finished day, the tears ran down his face, and he fell on the earthand kissed it for joy at his return. It was a glad thing for him to bethere once more; to recognise each spot he had loved, to look on theold stones and trees, the hills and sparkling sea, the rocky isle andthe curraghs of the fisher-folk; to smell the reek of the peat curlingup blue in the sweet air; for all these things had haunted him indreams when he was in a distant land. 

Now when the first hunger of longing had been appeased, and the yearwore round, and the swallows gathered in the autumn, and every bush andtree was crowded with them while they waited restlessly for a moonlightnight and a fair wind to take their flight over sea, Bresal began tothink tenderly of the home on the Spanish cliffs overhanging the brinkof the sunset. 

Then in the brown days of the autumn rains; and again in the keenNovember when the leaves were falling in sudden showers--but thehighest leaves clung the longest--and puffs of whirling wind set thefallen leaves flying, and these were full of sharp sounds and patteringvoices; and sixes of sparrows went flying with the leaves so that onecould not well say which were leaves and which were birds; and yetagain through the bitter time when the eaves were hung with icicles andthe peaks of the blue slieves were white with snow, and the low hillsand fields were hoary--the memory of the Prior and of the beloved houseprevailed with him and he felt the dull ache of separation. 

[Illustration: _And again in the keen November_]

As the days passed by his trouble grew the greater, for he began tofear that his love of the creature was attaching him too closely to theearth and to the things of this fleeting life of our exile. In vain hefasted and prayed and strove to subdue his affections; the human heartwithin him would not suffer him to rest. 

Now it happened on a day when the year had turned, and a soft wind wastossing the little new leaves and the shadows of the leaves and the newgrass and the shadows of the grass, Bresal was sitting on a rock in thesun on the hillside. 

Suddenly there flashed by him, in a long swift joyous swing of flight, two beautiful birds with long wings and forked tails and a sheen of redand green. It was the swallows that had returned. 

For a moment he felt an ascension of the heart, and then he recollectedthat nearly a year had elapsed since he had seen the face of his friendthe Prior for the last time in this world. And he wondered to himselfhow they all fared, whether any one had died, what this one or that wasnow doing, whether they still spoke at times of him, but chiefly hethought of the Prior, and he prayed for him with a great love. Andthinking thus as he sat on the rock, Bresal seemed to see once more thedear house in Spain and the cliffs overlooking the vast ocean stream, and it appeared to him as though he were once again in a favourite nookamong the rocks beside the priory. 

In that nook a thread of water trickled down into a hollow stone andmade a little pool, and around the pool grew an ice-plant with thickround green leaves set close and notched on the edge, and a thin russetstalk, and little stars of white flowers sprinkled with red. And hardby the pool stood a small rounded evergreen tree from which he hadoften gathered the orange-scarlet berries. At the sight of thesesimple and familiar things the tears ran down Bresal's cheeks, half forjoy and half for sorrow. 

Now at this selfsame moment the Prior was taking the air and saying hisoffice near that very spot, and when he had closed his breviary, heremembered his friend in Erinn far away, and murmured, "How is it, Lord, with Bresal my brother? Have him, I pray Thee, ever in Thy holykeeping. "

As he spoke the gift of heavenly vision descended on the Prior, and hesaw where Bresal sat on a rock in the sun gazing at the evergreen treeand the ice-plant about the little pool, and he perceived that Bresalfancied he was looking at these things. 

A great tenderness for Bresal filled the Prior's heart, and he prayed:"Lord, if it be Thy holy will, let Bresal my brother have near himthese things of which he is dreaming, as a remembrance of what his soulloveth. " Then, turning to the tree and the plant and the pool, heblessed them and said: "O little tree and starry plant and cool welland transparent fern, and whatsoever else Bresal now sees, arise in thename of the Lord of the four winds and of earth and water and fire, arise and go and make real the dream that he is dreaming. "

As he spoke the trickling water and the tree and the saxifrage, andwith them parcels of soil and rock, and with the pool the blue light ofthe sky reflected in it, rose like a cloud and vanished, and the Priorbeheld them no more. 

At last Bresal brushed away his tears, blaming his weakness and hisenslavement to earthly affections, but the things he had seen in hishappy day-dream did not vanish. To his great amazement, there at hisfeet were the little pool and the ice-plant, and hard by grew theevergreen tree. He rose with a cry of joy, "O Father Prior, 'tis thyprayer hath done this!"

And care was lifted from him, for now he knew that in his human love hehad in nowise sinned against the love of God, but contrariwise the loveof his friend had drawn him closer to the love of his Maker. Duringall the days of the years of his exile this little parcel of Spain wasa solace and a strength to him. 

Many a hundred years has gone by since this happened, but still if youtravel in that land you may see the ice-plant and the evergreen tree. And the name of the evergreen is the Strawberry Tree. The ice-plant, which is also called a saxifrage, may now be seen in many a garden towhich it has been brought from the Kerry mountains, and it is known asLondon Pride. Botanists who do not know the story of Bresal of theSongs have been puzzled to explain how a Spanish tree and a Spanishflower happen to grow in one little nook of Erinn. 

The Children of Spinalunga

The piazza or square in front of the Cathedral was the only open spacein which the children of Spinalunga had room to play. Spinalunga meansa Long Spine or Ridge of rock, and the castello or little walled townwhich bore that name was built on the highest peak of the ridge, insidestrong brown stone walls with square towers. So rough and steep wasthis portion of the ridge that the crowded houses, with their red roofsand white gables, were piled up one behind another, and many of thestreets were narrow staircases, climbing up between the houses to theblue sky. 

On the top the hill was flat, and there the Cathedral stood, and fromher niche above the great west entrance the beautiful statue of theMadonna with the Babe in her arms looked across the square, and overthe huddled red roofs, and far away out to the hills and valleys withtheir evergreen oaks and plantations of grey olives, and brightcornfields and vineyards. 

On three sides the town was sheltered by hills, but a very deep ravineseparated them from the ridge, so that on those three sides it wasimpossible for an enemy to attack the town. On the nearest hills greatpine woods grew far up the slopes, and sheltered it from the east windswhich blew over the snowy peaks. 

Now on the southern side of the square stood the houses of the Syndicand other wealthy citizens, with open colonnades of carved yellowstone; and all about the piazza at intervals there were orange-treesand pomegranates, growing in huge jars of red earthenware. 

This had been the children's playground as long as any one couldremember, but in the days of the blessed Frate Agnolo the Syndic was agrim, childless, irascible old man, terribly plagued with gout, whichmade him so choleric that he could not endure the joyous cries andclatter of the children at their play. So at last in his irritation hegave orders that, if the children must play at all, it would have to bein their own dull narrow alleys paved with hard rock, or outside beyondthe walls of the castello. For their part the youngsters would havebeen glad enough to escape into the green country among the broom andcypress, the red snapdragon and golden asters and blue pimpernels, butthese were wild and dangerous times, and at any moment a troop ofFree-lances from Pisa or a band of Lucchese raiders might have sweptdown and carried them off into captivity. 

They had therefore to sit about their own doors, and the piazza of theCathedral became strangely silent in the summer evenings, and there wasa feeling of dulness and discontent in the little town. Never a whitbetter off was the Syndic, for he was now angry with the stillness andthe deserted look of the square. 

In the midst of this trouble the blessed Brother Agnolo came down fromhis hermitage among the pine woods, and when he heard of what had takenplace, he went straightway to the Syndic and took him to task, withsoft and gracious words. 

"Messer Gianni, pain I know will often take all sweetness out of thetemper of a man, but in this you are not doing well. There is no childin Spinalunga but would readily forego all his happy play to give youease and solace, but in this way they cannot help you. By sending themaway you do but cloud their innocent lives, and you are yourself nonethe better for their absence. Were it not wiser for you to seek todistract yourself in their harmless merry-making? I may well thinkthat you have never watched them at their sports; but if you will bidthem come back to-day, and will but walk a little way with me, youshall see that which shall give you content and delight so great, thatnever again will you wish to banish them, but will rather pray to havetheir companionship at all times. "

Now the Frate so prevailed on the Syndic that he gave consent, and badeall the children, lass and lad, babe and prattler, come to the squarefor their games as they used to do. And leaning with one hand on hisstaff, and with the other on the shoulder of Brother Agnolo, he movedslowly through the fruit-trees in the great jars to the steps of theCathedral. 

Suddenly the joy-bells began to ring, and the little people camelaughing and singing and shouting from the steep streets and staircasesand alleys, and they raced and danced into the piazza like Springtimelet loose, and they chased each other, and caught hands and played inrings, and swarmed among the jars, as many and noisy as swallows whenthey gather for their flight over sea in the autumn-tide. 

"Look well, Messer Gianni, " said the Frate, "and perceive who it isthat shares their frolics. "

As the Brother spoke the eyes of the Syndic were opened; and there, with each little child, was his Angel, clothed in white, andwhite-winged; and as the little folk contended together, their Angelscontended with each other; and as they ran and danced and sang, so ranand danced and sang their Angels. Which was the laughter of thechildren, and which that of the Angels, the Syndic could not tell; andwhen the plump two-year-olds tottered and tumbled, their Angels caughtthem and saved them from hurt; and even if they did weep and make agreat outcry, it was because they were frightened, not because theywere injured, and straightway they had forgotten what ailed them andwere again merrily trudging about. 

In the midst of this wonderful vision of young Angels and bright-eyedchildren mingling so riotously together, the Syndic heard aninexpressibly joyous laugh behind him. Turning his head, he saw thatit was the little marble Babe in the arms of the Madonna. He wasclapping his hands, and had thrown back his head against his mother'sbosom in sudden delight. 

Did the Syndic truly see this? He was certain he did--for a moment;and yet in that same moment he knew that the divine Babe was once morea babe of stone, with its sweet grave face and unconscious eyes; andwhen the Syndic turned again to watch the children, it was only thechildren he saw; the Angels were no longer visible. 

"It is not always given to our sinful eyes to see them, " said BrotherAgnolo, answering the Syndic's thought, "but whether we see them or seethem not, always they are there. "

Now it was in the autumn of the same year that the fierce captain ofFree-lances, the Condottiere Ghino, appeared one moonlight night beforethe gates of Spinalunga, and bade the guard open in the name of Pisa. 

As I have said, the little hill-town could only be attacked on thewestern side, on account of the precipitous ravine which divided itfrom the hills; but the ridge before the gate was crowded with eighthundred horsemen and two thousand men-at-arms clamouring to beadmitted. Nothing daunted, the garrison on the square towers criedback a defiance; the war-bell was sounded; and the townspeople, men andwomen, hurried down to defend the walls. 

After the first flight of arrows and quarrels the Free-lances fell backout of bowshot, and encamped for the night, but the hill-men remainedon the watch till daybreak. Early in the morning Ghino himself rode upthe ascent with a white flag, and asked for a parley with the Syndic. 

"We are from Pisa, " said the Condottiere; "Florence is against us; thiscastello we must hold for our safety. If with your good-will, well andgood!"

"We are bound by our loyalty to Florence, " replied the Syndic briefly. 

"The sword cuts all bonds, " said the Free-lance, with a laugh; "but wewould gladly avoid strife. Throw in your lot with us. All we ask is apledge that in the hour of need you will not join Florence against us. "

"What pledge do you ask?" inquired the Syndic. 

"Let twenty of your children ride back with us to Pisa, " said theFree-lance. "These shall answer for your fidelity. They shall becherished and well cared for during their sojourn. "

Who but Messer Gianni was the angry man on hearing this?

"Our children!" he cried; "are we, then, slaves, that we must needssend you our little ones as hostages? Guards, here! Shoot me downthis brigand who bids me surrender your children to him!"

Bolts flew whizzing from the cross-bows; the Free-lance shook his irongauntlet at the Syndic, and galloped down the ridge unharmed. TheSyndic forgot his gout in his wrath, and bade the hill-men hold theirown till their roofs crumbled about their ears. 

Then began a close siege of the castello; but on the fourth day FrateAgnolo passed boldly through the lines of the enemy, and was admittedthrough the massive stone gateway which was too narrow for the entranceof either cart or waggon. Great was the joy of the hill-men as theBrother appeared among them. He, they knew, would give them wisecounsel and stout aid in the moment of danger. 

When they told him of the pledge for which the besiegers asked, he onlysmiled and shook his head. "Be of good cheer, " he said, "God and HisAngels have us in their keeping. "

Thoughtfully he ascended the steep streets to the piazza, and, enteringthe Cathedral, he remained there for a long while absorbed in prayer. And as he prayed his face brightened with the look of one who hearsjoyful news, and when he rose from his knees he went to the house ofthe Syndic, and spoke with him long and seriously. 

At sunset that day a man-at-arms went forth from the gates of thecastello with a white flag to the beleaguering lines, and demanded tobe taken into the presence of the captain. To him he delivered thismessage from the Syndic: "To-morrow in the morning the gate ofSpinalunga will be thrown open, and all the children of our town whoare not halt or blind or ailing shall be sent forth. Come and choosethe twenty you would have as hostages. "

By the camp-fires that night the Free-lances caroused loud and long;but in the little hill-town the children slept sound while the men andwomen prayed with pale stern faces. An hour after midnight all thegarrison from the towers and all the strong young men assembled in thesquare. They were divided into two bands, and were instructed todescend cautiously by rope-ladders into the ravine on the eastern sideof the town. Thence without sound of tongue or foot they were to stealthrough the darkness till they had reached certain positions on theflanks of the besiegers, where they were to wait for the signal ofonset. Frate Agnolo gave each of them his blessing, as one by one theyslid over the wall on to the rope-ladders and disappeared in theblackness of the ravine. Noiselessly they marched under the walls ofthe town till they reached their appointed posts, and there they layhidden in the woods till morning. 

The Free-lances were early astir. As the first ray of golden lightstreamed over the pine woods on to the ridge and the valley, the bellsof the Cathedral began to ring; the heavy gate of the castello wasflung open, and the children trooped out laughing and gay, just as theyhad burst into the square a few months ago, for this, they were told, was to be a great feast and holiday. As they issued through the deepstone archway they filed to right or left, and drew up in long linesacross the width of the ridge. Then raising their childish voices in asimple hymn, they all moved together down the rough slope to the linesof the besiegers. Brother Agnolo, holding a plain wooden cross highabove his head, led the way, singing joyously. 

It was a wonderful sight in the clear shining air of the hills, andhundreds of women weeping silently on the walls crowded together towatch it; and as they watched they held their breath, for suddenly inthe golden light of the morning they saw that behind each child therewas a great white-winged Angel with a fiery spear. 

Then, as that throng of singing children and shining spirits swept downupon the Free-lances, a wild cry of panic arose from the camp. Theeight hundred horsemen turned in dismay, and plunged through the ranksof the men-at-arms, and the mercenaries fell back in terror andconfusion, striking each other down and trampling the wounded underfootin their frantic efforts to escape. At that moment the hill-men whowere lying in ambush on each flank bore down on the bewilderedmultitude, and hacked and hewed right and left till the boldest andhardiest of the horsemen broke and fled, leaving their dead and dyingon the field. 

[Illustration: _The eight hundred horsemen turned in dismay_]

So the little hill-town of Spinalunga was saved by the children andtheir Angels, and even to this day the piazza of the Cathedral is theirvery own playground, in which no one can prevent them from playing allthe year round. 

The Sin of the Prince Bishop

The Prince Bishop Evrard stood gazing at his marvellous Cathedral; andas he let his eyes wander in delight over the three deep sculpturedportals and the double gallery above them, and the great rose window, and the ringers' gallery, and so up to the massive western towers, hefelt as though his heart were clapping hands for joy within him. Andhe thought to himself, "Surely in all the world God has no morebeautiful house than this which I have built with such long labour andat so princely an outlay of my treasure. " And thus the Prince Bishopfell into the sin of vainglory, and, though he was a holy man, he didnot perceive that he had fallen, so filled with gladness was he at thesight of his completed work. 

[Illustration: "_Surely in all the world God has no more beautifulhouse than this_"]

In the double gallery of the west front there were many great statueswith crowns and sceptres, but a niche over the central portal wasempty, and this the Prince Bishop intended to fill with a statue ofhimself. It was to be a very small simple statue, as became one whoprized lowliness of heart, but as he looked up at the vacant place itgave him pleasure to think that hundreds of years after he was deadpeople would pause before his effigy and praise him and his work. Andthis, too, was vainglory. 

As the Prince Bishop lay asleep that night a mighty six-winged Angelstood beside him and bade him rise. "Come, " he said, "and I will showthee some of those who have worked with thee in building the greatchurch, and whose service in God's eyes has been more worthy thanthine. " And the Angel led him past the Cathedral and down the steepstreet of the ancient city, and though it was midday, the people goingto and fro did not seem to see them. Beyond the gates they followedthe shelving road till they came to green level fields, and there inthe middle of the road, between grassy banks covered white with cherryblossom, two great white oxen, yoked to a huge block of stone, stoodresting before they began the toilsome ascent. 

"Look!" said the Angel; and the Prince Bishop saw a little blue-wingedbird which perched on the stout yoke beam fastened to the horns of theoxen, and sang such a heavenly song of rest and contentment that thebig shaggy creatures ceased to blow stormily through their nostrils, and drew long tranquil breaths instead. 

"Look again!" said the Angel. And from a hut of wattles and clay alittle peasant girl came with a bundle of hay in her arms, and gavefirst one of the oxen and then the other a wisp. Then she strokedtheir black muzzles, and laid her rosy face against their white cheeks. Then the Prince Bishop saw the rude teamster rise from his rest on thebank and cry to his cattle, and the oxen strained against the beam andthe thick ropes tightened, and the huge block of stone was once moreset in motion. 

And when the Prince Bishop saw that it was these fellow-workers whoseservice was more worthy in God's eyes than his own, he was abashed andsorrowful for his sin, and the tears of his own weeping awoke him. Sohe sent for the master of the sculptors and bade him fill the littleniche over the middle portal, not with his own effigy but with an imageof the child; and he bade him make two colossal figures of the whiteoxen; and to the great wonderment of the people these were set up highin the tower so that men could see them against the blue sky. "And asfor me, " he said, "let my body be buried, with my face downward, outside the great church, in front of the middle entrance, that men maytrample on my vainglory and that I may serve them as a stepping-stoneto the house of God; and the little child shall look on me when I liein the dust. "

Now the little girl in the niche was carved with wisps of hay in herhands, but the child who had fed the oxen knew nothing of this, and asshe grew up she forgot her childish service, so that when she had grownto womanhood and chanced to see this statue over the portal she did notknow it was her own self in stone. But what she had done was notforgotten in heaven. 

And as for the oxen, one of them looked east and one looked west acrossthe wide fruitful country about the foot of the hill-city. And onecaught the first grey gleam, and the first rosy flush, and the firstgolden splendour of the sunrise; and the other was lit with the colourof the sunset long after the lowlands had faded away in the blue mistof the twilight. Weary men and worn women looking up at them felt thata gladness and a glory and a deep peace had fallen on the life of toil. And then, when people began to understand, they said it was well thatthese mighty labourers, who had helped to build the house, should stillfind a place of service and honour in the house; and they rememberedthat the Master of the house had once been a Babe warmed in a manger bythe breath of kine. And at the thought of this men grew more pitifulto their cattle, and to the beasts in servitude, and to all dumbanimals. And that was one good fruit which sprang from the PrinceBishop's repentance. 

Now over the colossal stone oxen hung the bells of the Cathedral. OnChristmas Eve the ringers, according to the old custom, ascended totheir gallery to ring in the birth of the Babe Divine. At the momentof midnight the master ringer gave the word, and the great bells beganto swing in joyful sequence. Down below in the crowded church lay theimage of the new-born Child on the cold straw, and at His haloed headstood the images of the ox and the ass. Far out across the snow-roofedcity, far away over the white glistening country rang the glad music ofthe tower. People who went to their doors to listen cried inastonishment: "Hark! what strange music is that? It sounds as if thelowing of cattle were mingled with the chimes of the bells. " In truthit was so. And in every byre the oxen and the kine answered thestrange sweet cadences with their lowing, and the great stone oxenlowed back to their kin of the meadow through the deep notes of thejoy-peal. 

In the fulness of time the Prince Bishop Evrard died and was buried ashe had willed, with his face humbly turned to the earth; and to thisday the weather-wasted figure of the little girl looks down on him fromher niche, and the slab over his grave serves as a stepping-stone topious feet. 

The Little Bedesman of Christ

This is the legend of Francis, the Little Bedesman of Christ. Sevenhundred years ago was he born in Assisi, the quaint Umbrian town amongthe rocks; and for twenty years and more he cherished but one thought, and one desire, and one hope; and these were that he might lead thebeautiful and holy and sorrowful life which our Lord lived on theearth, and that in every way he might resemble our Lord in the purityand loveliness of His humanity. 

Home and wealth and honour he surrendered, and the love of a wife andof little prattlers on his knees; for none of these things were theportion of Christ. 

No care he took as to how he should be sheltered by night or wherewithhe should be clothed by day; and for meat and drink he looked to thehand of God, for these were to be the daily gift of His giving. Sothat when he heard the words of the sacred Gospel read in the littlechurch of St. Mary of the Angels--"Provide neither gold nor silver norbrass in your purses, nor scrip for your journey, neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves"--he went out and girt his coarse browndress with a piece of cord, and cast away his shoes and went barefootthenceforth. 

Even to this day the brethren of the great Order of religious men whichhe founded are thus clothed, and girt with a cord, and shod withnakedness. And this Order is the Order of the Lesser Brethren, theFratres Minores; and often they are called Franciscans, or the Friarsof St. Francis. 

But as to the thought he bestowed on his eating and drinking: once whenhe and Brother Masseo sat down on a broad stone near a fresh fountainto eat the bread which they had begged in the town, St. Francisrejoiced in their prosperity, saying, "Not only are we filled withplenty, but our treasure is of God's own providing; for consider thisbread which has come to us like manna, and this noble table of stonefit for the feasting of kings, and this well of bright water which isbeverage from heaven;" and he besought God to fill their hearts with anardent love of the affluence of holy poverty. 

[Illustration: _St. Francis of Assisi_]

Even the quiet and blessed peace of the cloister and the hermitage hedenied himself; for he remembered that though the Lord Christ withdrewinto the hills and went into the wilderness to refresh His soul withprayer and communion with His Heavenly Father, it was among the sons ofmen that He had His dwelling all His days. So he, too, the LittleBedesman, often tasted great happiness among the rocks and trees ofsolitary places; and his spirit felt the spell of the lonely hills; andhe loved to pray in the woods, and in their shadow he was consoled bythe visits of Angels, and was lifted bodily from the earth in ecstasiesof joy. But the work which he had set his hands to do was among men, and in villages and the busy streets of cities. 

It was not in the first place to save their own souls and to attain toholiness that he and his companions abandoned the common way of life. Long afterwards, when thousands of men had joined his Order of theLesser Brethren, he said: "God has gathered us into this holy Order forthe salvation of the world, and between us and the world He has madethis compact, that we shall give the world a good example, and theworld shall make provision for our necessities. "

Yet, though he preached repentance and sorrow for sin, never was it hiswish that men and women who had other duties should abandon thoseduties and their calling to follow his example. Besides the Order ofthe Lesser Brethren, he had founded an Order of holy women who shouldpray and praise while the men went forth to teach; but well he knewthat all could not do as these had done, that the work of the worldmust be carried on, the fields ploughed and reaped, and the vinesdressed, and the nets cast and drawn, and ships manned at sea, andmarkets filled, and children reared, and aged people nourished, and thedead laid in their graves; and when people were deeply moved by hispreaching and would fain have followed him, he would say: "Nay, be inno unwise haste to leave your homes; there, too, you may serve God andbe devout and holy;" and, promising them a rule of life, he founded theThird Order, into which, whatever their age or calling, all who desiredto be true followers of Christ Jesus might be admitted. 

Even among those who gave themselves up wholly to the life spiritual hediscouraged excessive austerity, forbidding them to fast excessively orto wear shirts of mail and bands of iron on their flesh, for these notonly injured their health and lessened their usefulness, but hinderedthem in prayer and meditation and delight in the love of God. Once, too, when it was revealed to him that a brother lay sleepless becauseof his weakness and the pinch of hunger, St. Francis rose, and, takingsome bread with him, went to the brother's cell, and begged of him thatthey might eat that frugal fare together. God gave us these bodies ofours, not that we might torture them unwisely, but that we might usetheir strength and comeliness in His service. 

So, with little heed to his own comfort, but full of consideration andgentleness for the weakness of others, he and his companions with himwent about, preaching and praising God; cheering and helping thereapers and vintagers in the harvest time, and working with thefield-folk in the earlier season; supping and praying with themafterwards; sleeping, when day failed, in barns or church porches orleper-hospitals, or may be in an old Etruscan tomb or in the shelter ofa jutting rock, if no better chance befell; till at last they came tobe known and beloved in every village and feudal castle and walled townamong the hills between Rome and Florence. At first, indeed, they weremocked and derided and rudely treated, but in a little while it wasseen that they were no self-seekers crazed with vanity, but messengersof heaven, and pure and great-hearted champions of Christ and His poor. 

In those days of luxury and rapacity and of wild passions and ruthlessbloodshed, it was strange to see these men stripping themselves ofwealth and power--for many of the brethren had been rich and noble--andproclaiming the Gospel of the love and gentleness and purity andpoverty of Christ. For not only were the brethren under vow to possessnothing whatever in the world, and not only were they forbidden totouch money on any account, but the Order itself was bound to poverty. It could not own great estates or noble abbeys and convents, but was asmuch dependent on charity and God's providing as the humblest of itsfriars. 

Was it a wonderful thing that a great affection grew up in the heartsof the people for these preachers of the Cross, and especially for themost sweet and tender of them all, the Little Bedesman of Christ, withthe delicate and kindly face worn by fasting, the black eyes, and thesoft and sonorous voice? Greatly the common people loved our Lord, andgladly they listened to Him; and of all men who have lived St. Franciswas most like our Lord in the grace and virtue of His humanity. I donot think that ever at any time did he say or do anything till he hadfirst asked himself, What would my Lord have done or said?

And certain it seems to me that he must have thought of the Thief inParadise and of the divine words Christ spoke to him on the cross, whenBrother Angelo, the guardian of a hermitage among the mountains, toldhim how three notorious robbers had come begging; "but I, " said theBrother, "quickly drove them away with harsh and bitter words. " "Thensorely hast thou sinned against charity, " replied the Saint in a sternvoice, "and ill hast thou obeyed the holy Gospel of Christ, who winsback sinners by gentleness, and not by cruel reproofs. Go now, andtake with thee this wallet of bread and this little flask of wine whichI have begged, and get thee over hill and valley till thou hast foundthese men; and when thou comest up with them, give them the bread andthe wine as my gift to them, and beg pardon on thy knees for thy fault, and tell them that I beseech them no longer to do wrong, but to fearand love God; and if this they will do, I will provide for them so thatall their days they shall not lack food and drink. " Then BrotherAngelo did as he was bidden, and the robbers returned with him andbecame God's bedesmen and died in His service. 

Not to men alone but to all living things on earth and air and waterwas St. Francis most gracious and loving. They were all his littlebrothers and sisters, and he forgot them not, still less scorned orslighted them, but spoke to them often and blessed them, and in returnthey showed him great love and sought to be of his fellowship. He badehis companions keep plots of ground for their little sisters theflowers, and to these lovely and speechless creatures he spoke, with nogreat fear that they would not understand his words. And all this wasa marvellous thing in a cruel time, when human life was accounted ofslight worth by fierce barons and ruffling marauders. 

For the bees he set honey and wine in the winter, lest they should feelthe nip of the cold too keenly; and bread for the birds, that they all, but especially "my brother Lark, " should have joy of Christmastide, andat Rieti a brood of redbreasts were the guests of the house and raidedthe tables while the brethren were at meals; and when a youth gave St. Francis the turtle-doves he had snared, the Saint had nests made forthem, and there they laid their eggs and hatched them, and fed from thehands of the brethren. 

Out of affection a fisherman once gave him a great tench, but he put itback into the clear water of the lake, bidding it love God; and thefish played about the boat till St. Francis blessed it and bade it go. 

"Why dost thou torment my little brothers the Lambs, " he asked of ashepherd, "carrying them bound thus and hanging from a staff, so thatthey cry piteously?" And in exchange for the lambs he gave theshepherd his cloak. And at another time seeing amid a flock of goatsone white lamb feeding, he was concerned that he had nothing but hisbrown robe to offer for it (for it reminded him of our Lord among thePharisees); but a merchant came up and paid for it and gave it him, andhe took it with him to the city and preached about it so that thehearts of those hearing him were melted. Afterwards the lamb was leftin the care of a convent of holy women, and to the Saint's greatdelight, these wove him a gown of the lamb's innocent wool. 

Fain would I tell of the coneys that took refuge in the folds of hishabit, and of the swifts which flew screaming in their glee while hewas preaching; but now it is time to speak of the sermon which hepreached to a great multitude of birds in a field by the roadside, whenhe was on his way to Bevagno. Down from the trees flew the birds tohear him, and they nestled in the grassy bosom of the field, andlistened till he had done. And these were the words he spoke to them:

"Little birds, little sisters mine, much are you holden to God yourCreator; and at all times and in every place you ought to praise Him. Freedom he has given you to fly everywhere; and raiment He has givenyou, double and threefold. More than this, He preserved your kind inthe Ark, so that your race might not come to an end. Still more do youowe him for the element of air, which he has made your portion. Overand above, you sow not, neither do you reap; but God feeds you, andgives you streams and springs for your thirst; the mountains He givesyou, and the valleys for your refuge, and the tall trees wherein tobuild your nests. And because you cannot sew or spin, God takesthought to clothe you, you and your little ones. It must be, then, that your Creator loves you much, since He has granted you so manybenefits. Be on your guard then against the sin of ingratitude, andstrive always to give God praise. "

And when the Saint ceased speaking, the birds made such signs as theymight, by spreading their wings and opening their beaks, to show theirlove and pleasure; and when he had blessed them with the sign of thecross, they sprang up, and singing songs of unspeakable sweetness, awaythey streamed in a great cross to the four quarters of heaven. 

One more story I must tell of the Saint and the wild creatures. 

On a time when St. Francis was dwelling in the town of Agobio, thereappeared in that countryside a monstrous grey wolf, which was so savagea man-eater that the people were afraid to go abroad, even when wellarmed. A pity it was to see folk in such fear and danger; whereforethe Saint, putting his whole trust in God, went out with his companionsso far as they dared go, and thence onward all alone to the place wherethe wolf lay. 

The wild beast rushed out at him from his lair with open mouth, but St. Francis waited and made over him the sign of the most holy cross, andcalled him to him, saying, "Come hither, Brother Wolf! In the name ofChrist I bid you do no harm, neither to me nor to any one. " And whenthe wolf closed his jaws and stopped running, and came at the Saint'sbidding, as gentle as a lamb, and lay down at his feet, St. Francisrebuked him for the slaying of God's creatures, the beasts, and evenmen made in God's image. "But fain would I make peace, " he said, "between you and these townsfolk; so that if you pledge them your faiththat you will do no more scathe either to man or beast, they willforgive you all your offences in the past, and neither men nor dogsshall harry you any more. And I will look to it that you shall alwayshave food as long as you abide with the folk of this countryside. "

Whereupon Brother Wolf, by movements of body and tail and bowing ofhead, gave token of his good will to abide by that bargain. And insign that he plighted his troth to it he gave the Saint his paw, andfollowed to the market-place of Agobio, where St. Francis repeated allthat he had said, and the people agreed to the bargain, and once morethe wolf gave pledge of his faith by putting his paw in the Saint'shand. 

For two years thereafter Brother Wolf dwelt in Agobio, going tame andgentle from house to house and in and out at will, doing hurt to none, but much loved of the children and cared for in food and drink andkindness by the townsfolk, so that no one lifted stone or stick againsthim, neither did any dog bark at him. At the end of those years hedied of old age, and the people were grieved that no more should theysee his gentle coming and going. 

Such was the courtesy and sweet fellowship of St. Francis with the wildcreatures. 

It remains yet to say of him that he was ever gay and joyous as becameGod's gleeman. Greatly he loved the song of bird and man, and allmelody and minstrelsy. Nor was it ill-pleasing to God that he shouldrejoice in these good gifts, for once lying in his cell faint withfever, to him came the thought that the sound of music might ease hispain; but when the friar whom he asked to play for him was afraid ofcausing a scandal by his playing, St. Francis, left alone, heard suchmusic that his suffering ceased and his fever left him. And as he laylistening he was aware that the sound kept coming and going; and howcould it have been otherwise? for it was the lute-playing of an Angel, far away, walking in Paradise. 

Sweet new songs he made in the language of the common people, folk offield and mountain, muleteers and vine-dressers, woodmen and hunters, so that they in turn might be light of heart amid their toil andsorrow. One great hymn he composed, and of that I will speak later;but indeed all his sayings and sermons were a sort of divine song, andwhen he sent his companions from one village to another he bade themsay: "We are God's gleemen. For song and sermon we ask largesse, andour largesse shall be that you persevere in sorrow for your sins. "

Seeing that ladies of the world, great and beautiful, took pleasure inthe songs of the troubadours sung at twilight under their windows, hecharged all the churches of his Order that at fall of day the bellsshould be rung to recall the greeting with which Gabriel the Angelsaluted the Virgin Mother of the Lord: "Hail, full of grace, the Lordis with thee, blessed art thou among women. " And from that day to thisthe bells have rung out the Angelus at sunset, and now there is no landunder heaven wherein those bells are not heard and wherein devout menhearing them do not pause to repeat that greeting angelic. 

In like fashion it was great delight to him (the Pope having given himleave) to make in the churches of the Order a representation of theCrib of Bethlehem on the feast of the Nativity. Of these the first wasmade at the hermitage of Greccio. Thither the peasants flocked onChristmas Eve, with lanterns and torches, making the forest ring withtheir carols; and there in the church they found a stable with straw, and an ox and an ass tethered to the manger; and St. Francis spoke tothe folk about Bethlehem and the Shepherds in the field, and the birthof the divine Babe, so that all who heard him wept happy tears ofcompassion and thankfulness. 

And as St. Francis stood sighing for joy and gazing at the emptymanger, behold! a wondrous thing happened. For the knight Giovanni, who had given the ox and the ass and the stable, saw that on the strawin the manger there lay a beautiful child, which awoke from slumber, asit seemed, and stretched out its little hands to St. Francis as heleaned over it. 

Even to this day there is no land in which you may not see, onChristmas Eve, the Crib of Bethlehem; but in those old days of St. Francis many souls were saved by the sight of that lowly manger fromthe sin of those heretics who denied that the Word was made flesh andthat the Son of God was born as a little child for our salvation. 

The joy and gaiety of St. Francis were of two kinds. There was the joyof love, and there was the joy of suffering for love. And of this lasthe spoke a wonderful rhapsody as he journeyed once with Brother Leo, inthe grievous cold of the early spring, from Perugia to St. Mary of theAngels. For, as Brother Leo was walking on before, St. Francis calledaloud to him:--

"O Brother Leo, although throughout the world the Lesser Brethren weremirrors of holiness and edification, nevertheless write it down, andgive good heed to it, that not therein is perfect joy. "

And again, a little further on, he called aloud:

"O Brother Leo, though the Lesser Brother should give the blind sight, and make the misshapen straight, and cast out devils, and give hearingto the deaf, and make the lame to walk and the dumb to speak; yea, should he even raise the four days' dead to life, write it down thatnot herein is perfect joy. "

And yet a little further on he cried out:

"O Brother Leo, if the Lesser Brother should know all languages, andevery science, and all the Scriptures, so that he could foretell notsolely the hidden things of the future but also the secrets of theheart, write down that not therein is perfect joy. "

A little further yet, and once again he cried aloud:

"O Brother Leo, God's little sheep, though the Lesser Brother were tospeak with the tongue of the Angels, and know the courses of the starsand the virtues of herbs, and though the treasures of the earth werediscovered to him, and he had craft and knowledge of birds and fishesand of all living creatures, and of men, and of trees and stones, androots and waters, write it down that not therein is perfect joy. "

And once more, having gone a little further, St. Francis called aloud:

"O Brother Leo, even though the Lesser Brother could by his preachingconvert all the unbelievers to the faith of Christ, write down that nottherein is perfect joy. "

And when, after St. Francis had spoken in this manner for the space oftwo miles, Brother Leo besought him to reveal wherein might perfect joybe found, St. Francis answered him:

"When we are come, drenched with rain and benumbed with cold andbespattered with mud and aching with hunger, to St. Mary of the Angels, and knock at the door, and the porter asks wrathfully, 'Who are you?'and on our answering, 'Two of your brethren are we, ' 'Two gangrelrogues, ' says he, 'who go about cheating the world and sorning the almsof the poor; away with you!' and whips the door to, leaving us tillnightfall, cold and famished, in the snow and rain; if with patience webear this injury and harshness and rejection, nowise ruined in our mindand making no murmur of complaint, but considering within ourselves, humbly and in charity, that the porter knows well who we are, and thatGod sets him up to speak against us--O Brother Leo, write down thattherein is perfect joy. "

And perfect joy, he added, if, knocking a second time, they brought theporter out upon them, fuming, and bidding them betake themselves to thealms-house, for knaves and thieves, and nevertheless they bore all withpatience and with gladness and love. And yet again, he continued, if athird time they knocked and shouted to him, for pity of their hungerand cold and the misery of the night, to let them in, and he came, fierce with rage, crying, "Ah, bold and sturdy vagabonds, now I willpay you, " and caught them by the hood, and hurled them into the snow, and belaboured them with a knotty cudgel; and if still, in despite ofall pain and contumely, they endured with gladness, thinking of thepains of the blessed Lord Christ, which for love of Him they too shouldbe willing to bear--then might it be truly written down that thereinwas perfect joy. 

This was the perfect joy of the Saint most like to Christ of all theSaints that the world has seen. And of all joys this was the mostperfect, seeing that it was by the patient way of tears andtribulation, of bodily pain and anguish of spirit, of humiliation andrejection, that a man might come most nearly to a likeness of Christ. 

Through all his gaiety and gladness and benignity he carried in hisheart one sorrow, and that was the memory of the Passion of our Lord. Once he was found weeping in the country, and when he was asked whetherhe was in grievous pain that he wept, "Ah!" he replied, "it is for thePassion of my Lord Jesus that I weep; and for that I should thinklittle shame to go weeping through the whole world. "

Two years before his death there befell him that miraculoustransfiguration, which, so far as it may be with a sinful son of Adam, made perfect the resemblance between him and the Saviour crucified. And it was after this manner. 

In the upper valley of the Arno stream there towers above the pines andgiant beeches of the hills a great basalt rock, Alvernia, which looksover Italy, east and west, to the two seas. That rock is accessible bybut a single foot-track, and it is gashed and riven by grim chasms, yetwithal great oaks and beech-trees flourish atop among the boulders, andthere are drifts of fragrant wild flowers, and legions of birds andother wild creatures dwell there; and the lights and colours of heavenplay about the rock, and the winds of heaven visit it with wholesomeair. 

Now a great and wealthy gentleman of Tuscany, Orlando of Chiusi, gaveSt. Francis that mountain for a hermitage where he could be remote frommen, and thither, with three of the brethren most dear to him, theSaint went to spend the forty days of the Fast of St. Michael theArchangel. 

Two nights they slept on the way, but on the third day, so worn was St. Francis with fatigue and illness, that his companions were fain to bega poor peasant to lend them his ass. As they proceeded on theirjourney the peasant, walking behind the ass, said to St. Francis, "Tellme now, art thou Brother Francis of Assisi?" and when St. Francis saidhe was, the peasant rejoined, "Look to it, then, that thou strive to beas good as folk take thee to be, so that those who have faith in theebe not disappointed in what they expect to find in thee. " Andinstantly St. Francis got down from the ass, and, kneeling on theground, kissed the peasant's feet, and thanked him for his brotherlyadmonition. 

So onward they journeyed up the mountain till they came to the foot ofAlvernia, and there as St. Francis rested him under an oak, vastflights of birds came fluttering and blithely singing, and alighted onhis shoulders and arms, and on his lap, and about his feet. "Notill-pleased is our Lord, I think, " said he, "that we have come to dwellon this mountain, seeing what glee our little brothers and sisters theBirds show at our coming. "

Under a fair beech on the top of the rock the brethren built him a cellof branches, and he lived alone in prayer, apart from the others, forthe foreknowledge of his death had overshadowed him. Once as he stoodby the cell, scanning the shape of the mountain and musing on theclefts and chasms in the huge rocks, it was borne in upon him that themountain had been thus torn and cloven in the Ninth Hour when our Lordcried with a loud voice, and the rocks were rent. And beside thisbeech-tree St. Francis was many times uplifted into the air in rapture, and many times Angels came to him, and walked with him for hisconsolation. 

A while later, the brethren laid a tree across a chasm, and St. Francishid himself in a more lonely place, where no one might hear him when hecried out; and a falcon, which had its nest hard by his cell, woke himfor matins, and according as he was more weary or sickly at one timethan another, that feathered brother, having compassion on him, wokehim later or sooner, and all the long day was at hand to give himcompanionship. 

Here in this wild place, in September, on Holy Cross Day, early in themorning, before the dawn whitened, St. Francis knelt with his faceturned to the dark east; and praying long and with great fervour, hebesought the Lord Christ Jesus for two graces before he died. And thefirst was this, that, so far as mortal flesh might bear it, he mightfeel in his body the torture which our Lord suffered in His Passion;and the second, that he might feel in his heart the exceeding greatlove for which He was willing to bear such torture. 

Now even while he was praying in this wise a mighty six-winged Seraph, burning with light unspeakable, came flying towards him; and St. Francis saw that the Seraph bore within himself the figure of a cross, and thereon the image of a man crucified. Two of the six wings of theSeraph were lifted up over the head of the crucified; and two werespread for flying; and two veiled the whole of the body on the cross. 

Then as the Seraph drew nigh, the eyes of Christ the crucified lookedinto the eyes of St. Francis, piercing and sweet and terrible; and St. Francis could scarce endure the rapture and the agony with which thatlook consumed him, and transfigured him, and burned into his body thesimilitude of Christ's Passion. For straightway his hands and his feetwere pierced through and through with nails; and the heads of the nailswere round and black, and the points were bent backward and riveted onthe further side of hand and foot; and his right side was opened withthe deep thrust of the spear; and the gash was red and blood camedropping from it. Terrible to bear was the ache of those wounds; andfor the nails in his feet St. Francis scarce could stand and could notwalk at all. 

Such was the transfiguration of the Little Bedesman of Christ into Hisvisible semblance on the holy rock Alvernia. 

For two years he sustained the ecstasy and anguish of that likeness, but of his sayings and of the wonders he wrought in that time I willnot speak. 

In those days he composed the Song of the Sun, and oftentimes sang it, and in many a village and market-place was it sung by the brethrengoing two by two in their labour for souls. A mighty hymn of praise tothe Lord God most high and omnipotent was this Song of the Sun; for inthis manner it was that St. Francis sang:

"Praised be Thou, my Lord; by all Thy creatures praised; and chieflypraised by Brother Sun who gives us light of day. 

"Through him Thou shinest; fair is he, brilliant with glittering fire;and he through heaven bears, Most High, symbol and sense of thee. 

"Praised by Sister Moon be Thou; and praised by all the Stars. Thesehast Thou made, and Thou hast made them precious and beautiful andbright. 

"Praised by Brother Wind be Thou; by Air, and Cloud that lives in air, and all the Weathers of the world, whereby their keep Thou dost providefor all the creatures Thou hast made. 

"Praised by Sister Water, Lord, be Thou; the lowly water, precious, pure, the gracious handmaiden. 

"Praised by Brother Fire, by whom Thou makest light for us i' the dark;and fair is he and jocund, sturdy and strong. 

"Praised by our Sister Mother-Earth, which keeps us and sustains, andgives forth plenteous fruit, and grass, and coloured flowers. 

"Praised be Thou, Lord my God, by those who for Thy love forgive, andfor Thy love endure; blessed in their patience they; by Thee shall theybe crowned. "

As he drew nigh to his end at St. Mary of the Angels, he cried out, "Welcome, Sister Death!" and when his brethren, as he had bidden them, sang once more the Song of the Sun, he added another verse:

"Praised by our Sister Death be Thou--that bodily death which no manmay escape. Alas for those who die in mortal sin, but happy theyconforming to Thy will; for these the second death shall nowise hurt. "

In the tenth month, on the fourth day of the month, in theforty-and-fifth year of his age, having recited the Psalm, "I criedunto Thee, O Lord, and said: Thou art my hope and my portion in theland of the living, " St. Francis died very joyfully. At the fall ofthe night he died, and while still the brethren were gazing upon hisface there dropped down on the thatch of the cell in which he lay larksinnumerable, and most sweetly they sang, as though they rejoiced at therelease of their holy kinsman. 

He was buried at the great church at Assisi; but though it is thoughthe lies beneath the high altar, the spot is unknown to any man, and thehill-folk say that St. Francis is not dead at all, but that he liveshidden in a secret crypt far down below the roots of wall and pillar. Standing there, pale and upright, with the blood red in the five woundsof his crucifixion, he waits in a heavenly trance for the sound of thelast trumpet, when the nations of the earth shall see in the clouds Himwhom they have pierced. 

Long after his death it was the custom of the brethren of a certainhouse of his Order to go chanting in procession at midnight once in theyear to his resting-place. But the way was long and dark; the weatheroften bleak and stormy. Little by little devotion cooled, and thefriars fell away, till there remained but one old monk willing to go onthis pilgrimage. As he went into the dark and the storm, the roadamong the woods and rocks grew luminous, and in place of the cross andtorches and canticles of the former days, great flocks of birdsescorted him on his way, singing and keeping him company. The littlefeathered brothers and sisters had not abated in their love of theLittle Bedesman who had caressed and blessed them. 

The Burning of Abbot Spiridion

Many wonderful things are told of the Abbot Spiridion, who lived ahundred years and four and yet grew never old; neither was thebrightness of his eyes dimmed nor his hair silvered, nor was his framebowed and palsied with the weakness of age. 

During the long years in which he ruled the abbey he had founded, heseemed to live less in this world than in the communion of the blessedsouls of men redeemed. The whole earth was as clear to him as thoughit had been of crystal, and when he raised his eyes he saw not solelywhat other men saw, but the vision of all that is under the heavens. And this vision of life was at once his trial and his consolation. Forit was an unspeakable sorrow and anguish to see on all sides the sinand suffering and misery of creation, and often he wept bitterly whenno one dared ask him the reason of his affliction. Yet oftentimes, onthe other hand, he laughed for lightness of spirit, and bade thebrethren rejoice because of the salvation of some reprobate soul, orthe relief of one oppressed, or the bestowal of some blessing on theservants of God. 

When it happened that a brother had been sent on a journey and was longabsent, and the community was talking of him, wondering how he hadfared and where he might now be, the Abbot would sometimes breaksilence and say: "I see our brother resting in such or such a cell, " or"Our brother is even now singing a psalm as he drifts in his small boatof skins down this or that river, " or, perchance, "Our brother iscoming over the hill and in an hour he will be with us. "

In the abbey there was a certain lay-brother, dull and slow of wit, with a hindrance in his speech; and one of the monks despised him andscoffed at his defect of nature. This lay-brother had the care of thegarden of pot-herbs and fruit-trees, and as he was toiling there oneday the Abbot called the uncharitable monk to him, and said: "Come, letus see what our brother the Fool is doing. "

The monk trembled when he heard those words, for he knew that hisscornfulness had been discovered, and he followed the Abbot in greatconfusion. In the garden they found the lay-brother planting cabbages. 

"Is our brother the Fool alone?" asked the Abbot. 

"Our brother is alone, father, " replied the monk. 

Then the Abbot touched the monk's eyes, and straightway he saw that thelay-brother was not alone: beside him were two radiant child-angels, one of whom held for him a basket containing the young plants, and thesecond walked to and fro playing on a lute to lighten his labour. Then, overwhelmed with shame, the monk fell on his knees, confessinghis sin and promising amendment. 

More strange than this is the story I have now to tell. It happenedthrough mischance that fire broke out in the abbey, and the flames werespreading so fiercely from one wattled cell to another that there wasgreat danger of the whole monastery being destroyed. With piteouscries the religious surrounded the Abbot, and besought him to intercedewith God that their home might be spared. 

Spiridion gently shook his head. "The mercy of God, " he replied, "hasgiven it to another to intercede for us in our danger this day. Theholy Pontiff, Gregory, has looked out of Rome and seen us in ourtrouble. At this moment he is kneeling in prayer for us, and hissupplication on our behalf will avail. "

Even while Spiridion was speaking, the Pope, far away in the GoldenCity, beheld the flames rising from the abbey, and called his householdto join him in entreating heaven; and at once it was seen that theflames were being beaten to the ground and extinguished as thoughinvisible hands were beating them down with invisible branches of trees. 

Now when the brethren were made aware that the whole earth was beingconstantly shown thus in vision to the Abbot, they stood in sad dreadof him; even the most pure and lowly-hearted were abashed at thisthought that perchance every act and every vain fancy of theirs waslaid bare to his knowledge. So it came to pass that out of shame andfear their hearts were little by little estranged from him. 

The Abbot was not slow to perceive the change, and he spoke of it whenthey met in chapter. 

"Truly it is a grievous and a terrible thing, " he said, "that any manshould see with the eyes of the soul more than it is given the eye offlesh to see; and I pray you, brethren, beseech the Lord, if it be Hiswill, that the vision be withdrawn from me. But if His will it be not, beseech Him that I may not sin through seeing. So much for myself, butas for you, dear children, why are you grieved? Because it may be thatI see you when you think no man sees you? Am I then the only one whosees you? Is there not at least one other--even the high God, fromwhom the hidden man of the heart is nowise hidden? If you fear Hisholy eyes, little need you fear the eyes of any sinful man. "

Such a one was the Abbot Spiridion. His spirit passed from among menin the hundred and fifth year of his exile, in the third month of theyear, on the morning of the resurrection of the Lord Christ, betweenthe white and the red of the morning, when the brethren were singingprime. As he listened to them singing, his cheeks suddenly becameflushed with bright colour, and those who were about him, thinking hewas in pain, asked if in any way they might relieve him; but he repliedin a low voice, "When the heart is glad the face flowers. " In a littleafter that he laughed softly to himself, and so they knew that his endwas gladness. 

When he died there were three hundred religious in that monastery, andin his stead Samson was made Abbot of Gracedieu. 

The body of Spiridion was laid in a stone coffin hard by the abbeychurch, and to those who had known the holy man it seemed nothingstrange that the sick and afflicted should come and kneel by his grave, in the hope that by his intercession they might obtain succour in theirmisery. Certain it is that the blind were restored to sight, and thesick to health, and the painful to great ease; and the fame of thesemiracles was noised abroad in the world till thousands came inpilgrimage to the spot, and costly gifts--gold and silver and jewels, sheep and cattle, wine and corn, and even charters of large demesnes, fruitful fields and woods and waters--were bestowed as thank-offeringsto the saintly man. 

Then over his tomb rose a vast and beautiful minster, and the tombitself was covered with a shrine, brilliant with blue and vermilion andgold and sculptured flowers, and guarded by angels with outspreadingwings. 

At the beginning Abbot Samson was well pleased, for the great churchrose like a dream of heaven, but when he perceived that the constantconcourse of people was destroying the hushed contemplation and pietyof the house, and that the brethren were distracted with eagerness forgain and luxury and the pride of life, he resolved to make an end. Wherefore after High Mass on the Feast of All Saints he bade thereligious walk in procession to the splendid shrine, and there theAbbot, with the shepherd's staff of rule in his hand, struck thrice onthe stone coffin, and three times he called aloud: "Spiridion!Spiridion! Spiridion!" and begged him, as he had been founder andfirst father of that monastery, to listen to the grievance which hadbefallen them in consequence of the miracles he had wrought from hisgrave. 

And after an indignant recital of their loss of humility, of theirlukewarmness, of their desire for excitement and the pageants of theworld, of their lust for buildings of stone and pillared walks andplentiful living, he concluded: "Make, then, we beseech thee, no signfrom thy sepulchre. Let life and death, and joy and sorrow, andblindness and disease, and all the vicissitudes of this world followtheir natural courses. Do not thou, out of compassion for thyfellow-man, interpose in the lawful succession of things. This is whatwe ask of thee, expecting it of thy love. But if it be that thou denyus, solemnly we declare unto thee, by the obedience which once we owedthee, we shall unearth thy bones and cast them forth from amongst us. "

Now whether it was that for some high purpose God delayed the answer tothat prayer, or whether it was the folly and superstition of men whichgave to things natural the likeness of the miraculous, and evenperadventure the folk lied out of a mistaken zeal for the glory of thesaints, there was no abatement of the wonders wrought at Spiridion'stomb; and when the Abbot would have forbidden access to the vast crowdsof pilgrims, the people resisted with angry violence and threatenedfire and bloodshed. 

So Samson summoned the wisest and holiest of the brotherhood, and tookthem into counsel. 

"This thing, " said he, "cannot be of God, that one of His saints, thefounder of this house, should lead into sloth and luxury the childrenof the house he has founded. Sooner could I believe that this is amalignant snare of the most Evil One, who heals the bodily ailments ofa few that he may wreck the immortal souls of many. "

Then arose Dom Walaric, the most aged of the monks, and said: "Already, Father Abbot, hast thou spoken judgment. Grievously shall I lamentwhat must be done; but in one way only can we root out this corruption. Let the bones of the holy man be unearthed and cast forth. He in thehigh heavens will know that we do not use him despitefully, but that oftwo evils this, indeed, is scarcely to be spoken of as an evil. "

Wherefore, in a grassy bay of the land by the river a great pile offaggots was reared, dry and quick for the touch of flame. And theAbbot broke down the shrine and opened the tomb. 

When the stone lid of the coffin had been lifted, the religious sawthat, though it had been long buried, the body showed no sign of decay. Fresh and uncorrupted it lay in the sacred vestments; youthful andcomely of face, despite a marvellous old age and years of sepulture. 

With many tears they raised what seemed rather a sleeping man than adead, and bore him to the river; and when they had heaped the faggotsabout him, the Abbot blessed the body and the fuel, and with his ownhand set fire to the funeral pile. 

The brethren restrained not their weeping and lamentation as theywitnessed that hallowed burning; and the Abbot, with heavy eyes, tarried till the last ember had died out. Then were all the ashes ofthe fire swept together and cast into the fleeting river, which borethem through lands remote into the utmost sea that hath no outlandlimit save the blue sky and the low light of the shifting stars. 

The Countess Itha

In the days of King Coeur-de-Lion the good Count Hartmann ruled inKirchberg in the happy Swabian land. And never had that fair land beenhappier than it was in those days, for the Count was a devoutChristian, a lover of peace in the midst of warlike and rapaciousbarons, and a ruler just and merciful to his vassals. Among the greenand pleasant hills on his domain he had founded a monastery for themonks of St. Benedict, and thither he often rode with his daughterItha, the delight of his heart and the light of the grim old castle ofthe Kirchberg; so that, seeing the piety of her father, she grew up inthe love and fear of God, and from her gentle mother she learned tofeel a deep compassion for the poor and afflicted. 

No sweeter maid than she, with her blue eyes and light brown hair, wasthere in all that land of sturdy men and nut-brown maidens. The peopleloved the very earth she stood on. In their days of trouble and sorrowshe was their morning and their evening star, and they never wearied ofpraising her goodness and her beauty. 

When Itha was in the bloom of her girlhood it befell that the youngCount Heinrich of the Toggenburg, journeying homeward from the famoustournament at Cologne, heard of this peerless flower of Swabia, andturned aside to the Castle of Kirchberg to see if perchance he mightwin a good and lovely wife. He was made welcome, and no sooner had helooked on Itha's fair and loving face, and marked with what modesty andcourtesy she bore herself, than he heard joy-bells ringing in hisheart, and said, "Now, by the blessed cross, here is the pearl of pricefor me!" Promptly he wooed her with tender words, and with eyes thatspoke more than tongue could find words for, and passionate observance, and all that renders a man pleasing to a maid. 

And Itha was not loth to be won, for the Count was young and handsome, tall and strong, and famous for feats of arms, and a mightylord--master of the rich straths and valleys of the Thur River, and ofmany a burgh and district in the mountains beyond; and yet, despite allthis, he, so noble and beautiful, loved her, even her, the littleSwabian maid who had never deemed herself likely to come to such honourand happiness. Nor were the kindly father and mother ill-pleased thatso goodly a man and so mighty a lord should have their dear child. 

So in a little while the Count put on Itha's hand the ring ofbetrothal, and Itha, smiling and blushing, raised it to her lips andkissed it. "Blissful ring!" said the Count jestingly; "and yet, dearest heart, you do well to cherish it, for it is an enchanted ring, an old ring of which there are many strange stories. " Even while hewas speaking Itha's heart misgave her, and she was aware of a feelingof doubt and foreboding; but she looked at the ring and saw how massivewas the gold and how curiously wrought and set with rare gems, and itsbrilliancy and beauty beguiled her of her foreboding, and she asked noquestions of the stories told of it or of the nature of its enchantment. 

Quickly on the betrothal followed the marriage and the leave-taking. With tears in her eyes Itha rode away with her lord, looking back oftento the old castle and gazing farewell on the pleasant land and thefields and villages she should not see again for, it might be, manylong years. But by her side rode the Count, ever gay and tender, andhe comforted her in her sadness, and lightened the way with lovingconverse, till she put from her all her regret and longing, and madeherself happy in their love. 

[Illustration: _Itha rode away with her lord_]

So they journeyed through the rocks and wildwood of the Schwartzwald, and came in view of the blue waters of the lake of Constance glitteringin the sun, and saw the vast mountain region beyond with its pineforests, and above the forests the long blue mists on the highpastures, and far over all, hanging like silvery summer clouds in theblue heavens, the shining peaks of the snowy Alps. And here, at last, they were winding down the fruitful valley of the Thur, and yonder, perched on a rugged bluff, rose the stern walls of Castle Toggenburg, with banners flying from the turrets, and the rocky roadway strewn withflowers, and vassals and retainers crowding to welcome home the bride. 

Now, for all his tenderness and gaiety and sweetness in wooing, theCount Heinrich was a hasty and fiery man, quickly stirred to anger andblind rage, and in his storms of passion he was violent and cruel. Notlong after their home-coming--woe worth the while!--he flashed out everand anon in his hot blood at little things which ruffled his temper, and spoke harsh words which his gentle wife found hard to bear, andwhich in his better moments he sincerely repented. Very willingly sheforgave him, but though at first he would kiss and caress her, afterwards her very forgiveness and her meekness chafed and galled hisproud spirit, so that the first magical freshness of love faded fromtheir life, even as the dew dries on the flower in the heat of themorning. 

Not far from the castle, in a clearing in the woods, nestled the littleconvent and chapel of Our Lady in the Meadow, and thither, attended byone of her pages, the Countess Itha went daily to pray for her husband, that he might conquer the violence of his wild heart, and for herself, that she might not grow to fear him more than she loved him. In thesedays of her trial, and in the worse days to come, a great consolationit was to her to kneel in the silent chapel and pour out herunhappiness to her whose heart had been pierced by seven swords ofsorrow. 

Time went by, and when no little angel came from the knees of God tolighten her burden and to restrain with its small hands the headlongpassion of her husband, the Count was filled with bitterness of spiritas he looked forward to a childless old age, and reflected that all thefruitful straths of the Toggenburg, and the valleys and townships, would pass away to some kinsman, and no son of his would there be toprolong the memory of his name and greatness. When this gloomy dreadhad taken possession of him, he would turn savagely on the Countess inhis fits of fury, and cry aloud: "Out of my sight! For all thymeekness and thy praying and thy almsgiving, God knows it was an illday when I set eyes on that fair face of thine!" Yet this was in noway his true thought, for in spite of his lower nature the Count lovedher, but it is ever the curse of anger in a man that it shall wreakitself most despitefully on his nearest and best. And Itha, who hadlearned this in the school of long-suffering, answered never a word, but only prayed the more constantly and imploringly. 

In the train of the Countess there were two pages, Dominic, an Italian, whom she misliked for his vanity and boldness, and Cuno, a comelySwabian lad, who had followed her from her father's house. Mostfrequently when she went to Our Lady in the Meadow she dismissedDominic and bade Cuno attend her, for in her distress it was some crumbof comfort to see the face of a fellow-countryman, and to speak to himof Kirchberg and the dear land she had left. But Dominic, seeing thatthe Swabian was preferred, hated Cuno, and bore the lady scantgoodwill, and in a little set his brain to some device by which hemight vent his malice on both. This was no difficult task, for theCount was as prone to jealousy as he was quick to wrath, and withcrafty hint and wily jest and seemingly aimless chatter the Italiansowed the seeds of suspicion and watchfulness in his master's mind. 

Consider, then, if these were not days of heartbreak for this lady, still so young and so beautiful, so unlovingly entreated, and so faraway from the home of her happy childhood. Yet she bore all patientlyand without complaint or murmur, only at times when she looked fromterrace or tower her gaze travelled beyond the deep pine-woods, and ina wistful day-dream she retraced, beyond the great lake and the BlackForest, all the long way she had ridden so joyfully with her dearhusband by her side. 

One day in the springtime, when the birds of passage had flownnorthward, carrying her tears and kisses with them, she bethought herof the rich apparel in which she had been wed, and took it from thecarved oaken coffer to sweeten in the sun. Among her jewels she cameupon her betrothal ring, and the glitter of it reminded her of what herlord had said of its enchantment and the strange stories told of it. "Are any of them so sad and strange as mine?" she wondered with tearsin her eyes; then kissing the ring in memory of that first kiss she hadgiven it, she laid it on a table in the window-bay, and busied herselfwith the bridal finery; and while she was so busied she was called awayto some cares of her household, and left the chamber. 

When she returned to put away her marriage treasures, the betrothalring was missing. On the instant a cold fear came over her. In vainshe searched the coffer and the chamber; in vain she endeavoured topersuade herself that she must have mislaid the jewel, or thatperchance the Count had seen it, and partly in jest and partly inrebuke of her carelessness, had taken it. The ring had vanished, andin spite of herself she felt that its disappearance portended someterrible evil. Too fearful to arouse her husband's anger, she breathedno word of her loss, and trusted to time or oblivion for a remedy. 

No great while after this, as the Swabian page was rambling in the woodnear the convent, he heard a great outcry of ravens around a nest in anancient fir-tree, and prompted partly by curiosity to know the cause ofthe disquiet, and partly by the wish to have a young raven for sport inthe winter evenings, he climbed up to the nest. Looking into the greatmatted pack of twigs, heather and lamb's wool, he caught sight of agold ring curiously chased and set with sparkling gems; and slipping itgleefully on his finger he descended the tree and went his way homewardto the castle. 

A few days later when the Count by chance cast his eye on the jewel, herecognised it at a glance for the enchanted ring of many strangestories. The crafty lies of the Italian Dominic flashed upon him; and, never questioning that the Countess had given the ring to herfavourite, he sprang upon Cuno as though he would strangle him. Thenin a moment he flung him aside, and in a voice of thunder cried for thewildest steed in his stables to be brought forth. Paralysed withfright, the luckless page was seized and bound by the heels to the tailof the half-tame creature, which was led out beyond the drawbridge, andpricked with daggers till it flung off the men-at-arms and dashedscreaming down the rocky ascent into the wildwood. 

Stung to madness by his jealousy, the Count rushed to the apartment ofthe Countess. "False and faithless, false and faithless!" he cried inhoarse rage, and clutching her in his iron grasp, lifted her in the airand hurled her through the casement into the horrible abyss below. 

As she fell Itha commended her soul to God. The world seemed to reeland swim around her; she felt as if that long lapse through space wouldnever have an end, and then it appeared to her as though she werepeacefully musing in her chair, and she saw the castle of Kirchberg andthe pleasant fields lying serene in the sunlight, and the happyvillages, each with its great crucifix beside its rustic church, andmen and women at labour in the fields. How long that vision lasted shecould not tell. Then as in her fall she was passing through the topsof the trees which climbed up the lower ledges of the castle rocks, green leafy hands caught her dress and held her a little, and strongarms closed about her, and yielded slowly till she touched the ground;and she knew that the touch of these was not the mere touch ofsenseless things, but a contact of sweetness and power which thrilledthrough her whole being. 

Falling on her knees, she thanked God for her escape, and rising againshe went into the forest, wondering whither she should betake herselfand what she should do; for now she had no husband and no home. Sheleft the beaten track, and plunging through the bracken, walked on tillshe was tired. Then she sat down on a boulder. Among the pines it wasalready dusk, and the air seemed filled with a grey mist, but this wascaused by the innumerable dry wiry twigs which fringed the lowerbranches of the trees with webs of fine cordage; and when a ray of thesetting sun struck through the pine trunks, it lit up the bracken withemerald and brightened the ruddy scales of the pine bark to red gold. Here it was dry and sheltered, with the thick carpet of pine-needlesunderfoot and the thick roof of branches overhead: and but for dread ofwild creatures she thought she might well pass the night in this place. To-morrow she would wander further and learn how life might besustained in the forest. 

The last ray of sunshine died away; the deep woods began to blacken; acool air sighed in the high tops of the trees. It was very homelessand lonely. She took heart, however, remembering God's goodness toher, and placing her confidence in His care. 

Suddenly she perceived a glimmering of lights among the pines. Torchesthey seemed, a long way off; and she thought it must be the retainersof the Count, who, finding she had not been killed by her fall, hadsent them out to seek for her. The lights drew nearer, and she satvery still, resigned to her fate whatsoever it might be. And yetnearer they came, till at length by their shining she saw a great stagwith lordly antlers, and on the tines of the antlers glittered tonguesof flame. 

Slowly the beautiful creature came up to her and regarded her with hislarge soft brown eyes. Then he moved away a little and looked back, asthough he were bidding her follow him. She rose and walked by hisside, and he led her far through the forest, till they came to anoverhanging rock beside a brook, and there he stopped. 

In this hidden nook of the mountain-forest she made her home. Withbranches and stones and turf she walled in the open hollow of the rock. In marshy places she gathered the thick spongy mosses, yellow and red, and dried them in the sun for warmth at night in the cold weather. Shelived on roots and berries, acorns and nuts and wild fruit, and thesein their time of plenty she stored against the winter. Birds' eggs shefound in the spring; in due season the hinds, with their young, came toher and gave her milk for many days; the wild bees provided her withhoney. With slow and painful toil she wove the cotton-grass and thefibres of the bark of the birch, so that she should not lack forclothing. 

In the warm summer months there was a great tranquillity and hushed joyin this hard life. A tender magic breathed in the colour and music ofthe forest, in its long pauses of windless day-dreaming, in its breezyfrolic with the sunshine. The trees and boulders were kindly; and theturf reminded her of her mother's bosom. About her refuge the wildflowers grew in plenty--primrose and blue gentian, yellow cinquefoiland pink geranium, and forget-me-nots, and many more, and these lookedup at her with the happy faces of little children who were innocent andknew no care; and over whole acres lay the bloom of the ling, andnothing more lovely grows on earthly hills. Through breaks in thewoodland she saw afar the Alpine heights, and the bright visionarypeaks of snow floating in the blue air like glimpses of heaven. 

But it was a bitter life in the winter-tide, when the forest frettedand moaned, and snow drifted about the shelter, and the rocks werejagged with icicles, and the stones of the brook were glazed with cold, and the dark came soon and lasted long. She had no fire, but, by God'sgood providence, in this cruel season the great stag came to her atdusk, and couched in the hollow of the rock beside her, and the lightson his antlers lit up the poor house, and the glow of his body and hispleasant breath gave her warmth. 

Here, then, dead to the world, dead to all she loved most dearly, Ithaconsecrated herself body and soul to God for the rest of her earthlyyears. If she suffered as the wild children of nature suffer, she wasfree at least from the cares and sorrows with which men embitter eachother's existence. Here she would willingly live so long as Godwilled; here she would gladly surrender her soul when He was pleased tocall it home. 

The days of her exile were many. For seventeen years she dwelt thus inher hermitage in the forest, alone and forgotten. 

Forgotten, did I say? Not wholly. The Count never forgot her. Stungby remorse (for in his heart of hearts he could not but believe hertrue and innocent), haunted by the recollection of the happiness he hadflung from him, wifeless, childless, friendless, he could find no restor forgetfulness except in the excitement and peril of thebattle-field. But the slaughter of men and the glory of victory wereas dust and ashes in his mouth. He had lost the joy of life, the prideof race, the exultation of power. For one look from those sweet eyes, over which, doubtless, the hands of some grateful peasant had laid theearth, he would have joyfully exchanged renown and lordship, and evenlife itself. 

At length in the fulness of God's good time, it chanced that the Countwas hunting in a distant part of the forest, when he started from itscovert a splendid stag. Away through the open the beautiful creatureseemed to float before him, and Heinrich followed in hot chase. Acrossgrassy clearings and through dim vistas of pines, over brooks and amongboulders and through close underwood, the fleet quarry led him withoutstop or stay, till at last it reached the hanging rock which was Itha'scell, and there it stood at bay; and alarmed by the clatter of hoofs, atall pale woman, rudely clad in her poor forest garb, came to theentrance. 

Surprised at so strange a sight, the Count drew rein and stared at thewoman. Despite the lapse of time and her pallor and emaciation, in aninstant he recognised the wife whom he believed dead, and she toorecognised the husband she had loved. 

How shall I tell of all that was said between those two by that lonelyhermitage in the depth of the forest? As in the old days, she waseager to forgive everything; but it was in vain that the Count besoughther to return to the life which she had forgotten for so many years. Long had she been dead and buried, so far as earthly things wereconcerned. She would prefer, despite the hardness and the pain, tospend in this peaceful spot what time was yet allotted to her, but thatshe longed once more to hear the music of the holy bells, to kneel oncemore before the altar of God. 

What plea could Heinrich use to shake her resolution? His shame andremorse, even his love, held him tongue-tied. He saw that she was nolonger the meek gentle Swabian maiden who had shrunk and wept at everyhasty word and sharp glance of his. He had slain all human love inher; nothing survived save that large charity of the Saints which bindsthem to all suffering souls on the earth. 

Wofully he consented to her one wish. A simple cell was prepared forher in the wood beside the chapel of Our Lady in the Meadow, and thereshe dwelt until, in a little while, her gentle spirit was called home. 

The Story of the Lost Brother

This is the story written in the chronicle of the Priory of Kilgrimol, which is in Amounderness. It tells of the ancient years before thatgreat inroad of the sea which broke down the high firs of the westernforest of Amounderness, and left behind it those tracts of sand andshingle that are now called the Blowing Sands. In those days Oswaldthe Gentle was Prior of Kilgrimol, and he beheld the inroad of the sea;and afterwards he lived through the suffering and sorrow of the greatplague of which people now speak as the Black Death. 

Of all monks and men he was the sweetest and gentlest, and long beforehe was chosen Prior, when he had charge of the youths who wished to bemonks, he never wearied of teaching them to feel and care for all God'screatures, from the greatest to the least, and to love all God's works, and to take a great joy even in stones and rocks, and water and earth, and the clouds and the blue air. "For, " said he, "according to theflesh all these are in some degree our kinsfolk, and like us they comefrom the hands of God. Does not Mother Church teach us this, speakingin her prayers of God's creature of fire, and His creature of salt, andHis creature of flowers?"

When some of the brotherhood would smile at his gentle sayings, hewould answer: "Are these things, then, so strange and childish?Rather, was not this the way of the Lord Jesus? You have read how Hewas in the wilderness forty days, tempted of Satan, and how He was withthe wild beasts? All that those words may mean we have not beentaught; but well I believe that the wild things came to Him, even asvery little children will run to a good man without any doubt of hisgoodness; and that they recognised His pitifulness and His power tohelp them; and that He read in their dumb pleading eyes the pain andthe travail under which the whole creation groaneth; and that Heblessed them, and gave them solace, and told them in some mysteriousway of the day of sacrifice and redemption which was drawing near. "

Once when the brethren spoke of clearing out the nests from the churchtower, because of the clamour of the daws in the morning and eveningtwilight, the Novice-master--for this was Oswald's title--besought themto remember the words of the Psalmist, King David: "The sparrow hathfound an house and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may layher young, even thine altars, O Lord of Hosts. "

As for the novices, many a legend he told them of the Saints and holyhermits who had loved the wild creatures, and had made them companionsor had been served by them in the lonely places of the hills andwildwood. And in this, he taught them, there was nothing strange, forin the book of Hosea, it was written that God would make, for those whoserved Him, a treaty of peace and a league of love with the beasts andthe birds of heaven and the creeping things of the earth, and in thebook of Job it was said that even the stones of the field should be infriendship with them. 

"And this we see, " he would say, "in the life of the blessed BishopKieran of Saighir, who was the first Saint born in green Erinn. For hewandered away through the land seeking the little well where he was tofound his monastery. That well was in the depths of a hoary wood, andwhen he drew near it the holy bell which he carried rang clear andbright, as it had been foretold him. So he sat down to rest under atree, when suddenly a wild boar rushed out of its lair against him; butthe breath of God tamed it, and the savage creature became his firstdisciple, and helped him to fell small trees and to cut reeds andwillows so that he might build him a cell. After that there came frombrake and copse and dingle and earth and burrow all manner of wildcreatures; and a fox, a badger, a wolf, and a doe were among Kieran'sfirst brotherhood. We read, too, that for all his vows the fox madebut a crafty and gluttonous monk, and stole the Saint's leather shoes, and fled with them to his old earth. Wherefore Kieran called thereligious together with his bell, and sent the badger to bring back thefugitive, and when this was done the Saint rebuked the fox for anunworthy and sinful monk, and laid penance upon him. "

When the novices laughed at this adventure, Father Oswald said:

"These things are not matters of faith; you may believe them or not asyou will. Perhaps they did not happen in the way in which they are nowtold, but if they are not altogether true, they are at least images andsymbols of truth. But this I have no doubt is true--that when theblessed Columba was Abbot in Iona, he called one of the brethren to himand bade him go on the third day to the western side of the island, andsit on the sea-shore, and watch for a guest who would arrive, weary andhungry, in the afternoon. And the guest would be a crane, beaten bythe stormy winds, and it would fall on the beach, unable to flyfurther. 'And do thou, ' said Columba, 'take it up with gentle handsand carry it to the house of the guests, and tend it for three days andthree nights, and when it is refreshed it will fly up into the air, andafter scanning its path through the clouds it will return to its oldsweet home in Erinn; and if I charge thee so earnestly with thisservice, it is because the guest comes from our dear land. ' And theBrother obeyed; and on the third day the crane arrived, storm-beatenand weary, and three days later it departed. Have you not also heardor read how our own St. Godrich at Whitby protected the four-footedforesters, and how a great stag, which had been saved by him from thehunters, came year after year at a certain season to visit him?"

Many legends too he told them of birds as well as beasts, and three ofthese I will mention here because they are very pleasant to listen to. One was of St. Malo and the wren. The wren, the smallest of all birds, laid an egg in the hood which St. Malo had hung up on a branch while hewas working in the field, and the blessed man was so gentle and lovingthat he would not disturb the bird, but left his hood hanging on thetree till the wren's brood was hatched. 

Then there was the legend of St. Meinrad, who lived in a hut made ofboughs on Mount Etzel, and had two ravens for his companions. Now ithappened that two robbers wandered near the hermitage, and foolishlythinking that some treasure might be hidden there, they slew the Saint. After a long search, in which they found nothing, they went down themountain to Zurich; but the holy man's ravens followed them with fiercecries, whirling about their heads and dashing at their faces, so thatthe people in the valley wondered at the sight. But one of thedalesmen who knew the ravens sent his son to the hermitage to see ifall was well, and followed the fellows to the town. There they tookrefuge in a tavern, but the ravens flew round and round the house, screaming and pecking at the window near which the robbers had seatedthemselves. Speedily the lad came down with the news of the cruelmurder; the robbers were seized, and, having confessed their crime, they suffered the torture of death on the wheel. 

And lastly there was the legend of St. Servan, who had a robin whichperched on his shoulder, and fed from his hand, and joined in withjoyful twittering when the Saint sang his hymns and psalms. Now thelads in the abbey-school were jealous of the Saint's favourite pupil, Kentigern, and out of malice they killed the robin and threw the blameon Kentigern. Bitterly the innocent child wept and prayed over thedead bird; and behold! when the Saint came from singing nones in theminster, the robin fluttered up and flew away to meet him, chirrupingmerrily. 

"A thoughtless thing of little blame, " said the Novice-master, "was thewickedness of these boys compared with that of the monks of the AbbotEutychus. The Abbot had a bear to tend his sheep while he was absentand to shut them in their fold at sunset, and when the monks saw thatmarvel, instead of praising God they were burned up with envy andill-will, and they killed the bear. Ah, children, it is still possiblefor us, even in these days, to kill a Saint's robin and an abbot'sbear. Let us beware of envy and jealousy and uncharitableness. "

In those years when Father Oswald was thus teaching his novicesgentleness and compassion, he had but one trouble in his life, and thatwas the remembrance of a companion of his youth, who had fled from thePriory and disappeared in the noise and tumult of the world's life. Asscholars they had been class-mates, and as novices they had been soclosely drawn together that each had pledged to the other that whoeverdied first should, under God's permission, appear to the one still leftalive, and reveal to his friend all that may be told of the state ofthe departed. Now hardly had they been professed monks more than ayear when this brother broke his vows and deserted his habit, and fledaway under cloud of night. Oswald had never forgotten his friend, andhad never ceased to grieve and pray for him. It was the great hope anddesire of his heart that, having at last proved the vanity of all thatthe world can give, this Lost Brother would one day return, like theProdigal Son, to the house of his boyhood. 

As the years went by Prior Anselm grew old and sickened, and at lengthwhat was mortal of him fell as the leaf that falls and is trodden inthe clay; and the Novice-master was elected Prior in his stead. 

Now one of the first great works which the new Prior set his hand towas the making of two large fish-ponds for the monastery. "And so, "said he, "not only shall we have other than sea-fish for our table, butin case of fire we shall have store of water at hand. Then, too, it isa pleasant thing to look on sweet water among trees, and to watch themany sorts of silvery fish playing in their clear and silent world. And well it becomes our state of life that we should have this, for ofour Lord's Disciples many were fishermen, and fish and bread were thelast earthly food our dear Master ate. Now of these ponds let thelarger be our Lake of Gennesaret, and surely it shall some time happento us that we shall see the Lord when the bright morning has come, andthat our hearts shall be as a fire of coals upon the shore. "

Of the earth dug out of the fish pools he piled up a high mound orbarrow, and stocked it well with saplings of oak and beech, ash andpine, and flowering bushes; and about the mound a spiral way wound tothe top, and from the top one saw to the four winds over the high woodsof Amounderness, and on the west, beyond the forest, the white sands ofthe shore and the fresh sea. When the saplings grew tall and stout, the green leaves shut out all sight of the Priory; even the tower ofthe church; and above the trees in the bright air it was as though onehad got half-way to heaven. 

Now after a little while the Prior reared on the high summit a vastcross of oak, rooted firmly amid huge boulders, and the face of ourLord crucified was turned to the west, and His arms were opened wide tothe sea and to the passing ships. And beneath the flying sails, faraway, the mariners and fisher-folk could see the cross in the sky, andthey bared their heads to the calvary of Kilgrimol. So the name of ourhouse and our Christ was known in strange waters and in distant havens. 

All that climbing greenwood of the mound was alive with wild creatures, winged and four-footed, and no one was suffered to disquiet or annoythem. To us it seemed that the Prior was as well known to all the wildthings far and near as he was to us, for the little birds flutteredabout him, and the squirrels leaped from tree to tree along the way hewent, and the fawns ran from the covert to thrust their noses into hishand. And in the winter time, if the snow lay deep and there was anydearth, food was made ready for them and they came in flocks and troopsto the Priory, knowing well, one would think, that the Prior would betheir loving almoner. 

Bee-hives, too, he set up, and grew all manner of flowers, both for theuse of the little brown toilers and for the joyance of the brethren;and of the flowers he spoke deep and beautiful parables too many to betold of in this book. 

Now in the third year of his rule the Prior heard tidings of thecompanion he had never forgotten, and he took into his confidence oneof the religious named Bede, in whom he had great trust, and he toldhim the story of their friendship. "And now, Bede, " he said, "I wouldhave thee go on a long journey, even to the golden city of London, andseek out my friend. He will easily be found, for men know his name, and he hath grown to some repute, and the good things of this worldhave not been denied him. And in this I rejoice, for when he hath wonall his heart may desire, he will the sooner discover how little is thejoy and how fleeting the content. And tell him that so long as I amPrior of this house, so long shall this house be a home waiting for hishome-coming. Bid him come to me--if but for a little while, then for alittle while be it; but if he longs for rest, this shall be the placeof his rest until the end. And if these things cannot be now, then letthem be when they may be. "

And Bede went on his long wayfaring and found the Lost Brother, a manhappy and of fair fame, and blessed with wife and child. And the monksat with the little maid on his knee, and even while he prayed for herand her father, he understood how it might be that the man was wellcontent, and how that neither to-day nor to-morrow could he return tothat old life of the Priory in the forest. 

"Yet, " said he, "tell the Prior that surely some day I shall see hisface again, if it be but for mere love of him for well I know there beamong the monks those who would more joyfully rend me or burn me at thestake than give the hand of fellowship to one who has cast aside thecowl. "

When he heard of these things the Prior only prayed the more earnestlyfor the home-coming of his friend. 

Now it was in the autumn of that year, at the season when the days andnights are of one length, that the great inroad of the sea befell. Theday had been stormy, with a brackish wind clamouring out of the sea, and as the darkness closed in it was with us as it is with blind menwho hear and feel the more keenly because of their blindness and allthat we heard was the boom of billows breaking on the long shore andthe crying and groaning of the old oaks and high firs in the forest. Then in the midmost of the night we were aroused by so terrible anoise, mingled with shrieking and wailing, that we crowded to thePrior's door. Speedily he rose, and we followed him out of doors, wondering what disaster had happened. The moon was shining brightly;shreds of cloud were flying across the cold sky; the air was full ofthe taste of salt. 

As we gazed about us we saw that the cloisters and the garth and allthe space within the walls were crowded with wild birds--sea-fowl andcrows, pheasant and blackcock, starlings and thrushes, stonechats andyellow-hammers, and hundreds of small winged creatures cowering forshelter. And when the Prior bade us throw open the monastery gates, out of the sombre gloom of the forest the scared woodlanders camecrowding, tame and panting. No one had ever realised that so manystrange creatures, in fur and pelt, housed in the green ways. Even thenames of many of them we did not know, for we had never set eyes onthem before; but among those that were within our knowledge were coneysand hares, stoats and weasels, foxes and badgers, many deer with theirdoes and fawns, and one huge grey creature of savage aspect which wetook to be an old wolf. 

The Prior ordered that the gates should be left open for any fugitivesthat might seek refuge, and he went among the wild beasts, calming themwith a touch of his hand and blessing them. Then there came a woman, with a child at her bosom and a little lad clinging to her dress, butshe was so distracted with fright that she was unable to say what hadhappened. 

When he had given directions for the care of all these strange guests, the Prior climbed up the mound through the tossing trees, and when hehad reached the summit he saw to his amazement that the sea had risenin a mighty flood and poured for miles into the forest. The huge oaksand pines of centuries had gone down in thousands, and over theirfallen trunks and broken branches the white billows were tumbling andleaping in clouds of spray in the moonlight. Happily the land slopedaway to the north, so that unless the wind changed and blew against usthe Priory seemed to be in no present danger. Overhead the great crossvibrated in the storm, and the face of the Christ gazed seaward, andthe holy arms were opened wide. The sight of that divine figure filledthe Prior's heart with peace and confidence. "Whether to live or todie, " he murmured, "in Thee, O Lord, have we placed our trust. "

Such was the terrible inroad of the sea which broke the western forestof Amounderness. For many a day the land lay in salt swamp till thesands were blown over it and buried the fallen timber; and afterwardsthe very name of Forest was forgotten, and the people called all thatpart the Field-lands. 

Now it was in this same year that the grievous pestilence named theBlack Death raged in England; but it was not till the winter had goneby that it reached Amounderness. Then were seen those terrible dayswhen ships sailed the seas with crews of dead men, and when on landthere was burying without sorrow and flight without safety, for thoughmany fled they could not escape the evil, and so many died that thewells of sorrow ran dry. And because of the horror of so many deaths, it was forbidden to toll the bells any longer lest men should go mad. Often no hand could be got for love or for gold to touch the sick or tocarry the departed to their graves. When the graveyards were filled, thousands were buried, without a prayer or a last look, in deeptrenches salted with quicklime, on the commons or in an open field. Many a street in many a town fell suddenly silent and deserted, andgrass grew between the stones of the causeway. Here and there fireswere kept burning night and day to purify the air, but this availedlittle. In many a thorpe and village all the inhabitants were sweptaway and even robbers and desperate vagrants were too greatly in fearof infection to enter the ownerless houses. Sometimes in the fieldsone saw little children, and perchance an aged woman, trying to managea plough or to lead a waggon. 

When this trouble fell upon the people the Prior sent out various ofthe brethren to aid the suffering and to comfort the bereaved; but whenmany of the monks themselves were stricken down and died within thehour, a great dread took hold of the others, so that they wereunwilling to expose themselves to danger. 

The Prior rebuked them for their lack of faith and the coldness oftheir charity. "When the beasts and wild creatures suffered we hadcompassion on them, " he said; "what folly is this that we shall havecare for them and yet feel no pity for men and women in their misery!Do you fear that you too may be taken off by this pestilence? Who, then, has told you that you shall not die if only you can escape thepestilence? Daily you pray, 'Thy kingdom come, ' and daily you seekthat it shall not come to-day. "

He went abroad himself unweariedly with one or other of the brethren, doing such good as he was able, and when he had returned home and takena little rest he set out once more. Now one night as he and BrotherBede returned belated through the forest, they were startled as theyapproached the gate to hear the weeping and moaning of one who layforsaken on the cold earth; and when the Prior called out through thedarkness, "Be of good cheer, Christian soul, we are coming to youraid, " the sufferer replied by rattling the lid of his clap-dish, and atonce they knew it was some poor leper who had fallen helpless by theway. 

"Patience, brother, " said the Prior; and bidding his companion open thewicket, he lifted the wretched outcast from the ground and carried himin his arms into the great hall. "Rest here a little, " he said, "tillwe can bring you light and fire and food. "

The Prior and Bede hastened to call the brethren who had charge ofthese matters, but when they returned with the other monks they foundthe great hall shining with a wonderful light and filled with amarvellous fragrance of flowers, and on the seat where the leper hadbeen placed there lay a golden rose, but the leper himself had vanished. 

Then a great joy cast fear out of the hearts of the brotherhood, andthey laboured without ceasing in the stricken villages. Many of themdied, but it was without sorrow or repining, and the face of each wastouched with the golden rose ere he was laid to his rest. 

Now the pestilence of that year was stayed by a bitter winter, and snowlay deep even in the forest, and great blocks of ice littered the shoreof the bleak sea. And in the depth of the winter, when it drew nearthe Nativity, there came riding to the monastery a stranger, who askedto see the Prior. When the Prior looked into the man's face the tearsstarted and ran down his own, and he opened his arms to him, and drewhim to his breast and kissed him. For this was indeed the LostBrother. And when he had thus given him welcome, the Prior said: "Iask no questions; what you can tell me you shall tell when the fittingtime comes. But this is your home to have or to leave, for you are asfree as the winds of heaven. "

And the Lost Brother replied: "Wise are you no less than good. Theplague has bereft me of the child, and of the mother of the child. More I cannot tell you now. "

Thus to the Priori great happiness the companion of his youth returnedfrom wandering the ways of the world. 

When the weeks passed, and still he remained a silent and solitarystranger, the religious spoke sharply among themselves of the presenceof one who had broken vows and revelled in the joys of life, and hadbeen received without censure or reproof. Then the Prior, wrathful noweven on account of his gentleness, rebuked them once again: "O eyes ofstone and hearts of water, are you so slow to learn? Have you whosheltered the wild creatures no thought for this man of much sorrow?Have you who buried the dead no prayer and no tenderness for this soulof the living?"

More than once the Lost Brother seemed to awake from a dream, and spokeof going forth again from this home or quiet, saying: "Truly this isgreat peace and solace to me, but I am not of you; my thoughts are notyour thoughts, nor is yours my way of life. Indeed, though I were towill it never so, I could not repent of what I have done. Let me go;why should I be an offence and a stone of stumbling to those who arerighteous among you?"

But the Prior silenced him, asking gently: "Do we distress you with anyof these things? God has His times and seasons, and will not behastened. At least so long as you find peace and rest here, remainwith us. "

"You are strangely wise and gentle, " the Lost Brother answered. "God, I doubt it not, has His times and seasons; but with me I know not atall what He will do. "

It was no long while after this that the Prior fell into a grievousillness; and when he knew that his hour was drawing nigh, he besoughtthe monks to bear him up to the foot of the cross on the mound. There, as he looked far abroad into the earth over the tree-tops, he smiledwith lightness of heart and said: "If the earth be so beautiful and sosweet, what must the delight of Paradise be?"

And behold! a small brown squirrel came down a tree, and ran across andnestled in the holy man's bosom, and its eyes were full of tears. ThePrior stroked and caressed it, and said: "God bless thee, littlewoodlander, and may the nuts never fail thee!"

Then, gazing up into the blue sky and the deep spaces of air above, hemurmured in a low voice, "It is a very awful and lonely way to go!"

"Not so awful for you, " replied the companion of his youth. "That blueway has been beaten plain by the Lord Christ, and the Apostles, andmany holy men from the beginning. "

A long while the Prior lay musing before he spoke again, and then hesaid: "I remember me of an ancient saying which I had long forgotten. A year for the life of a--nay, I know not what any longer. But afterthat it runs, And three for the life of a field; and thrice the life ofa field for the life of a hound; and thrice the life of a hound for thelife of a horse; and thrice the life of a horse for the life of a man;and thrice the life of a man for the life of a stag; and thrice thelife of a stag for the life of an ouzel; and thrice the life of anouzel for the life of an eagle; and thrice the life of an eagle for thelife of a salmon; and thrice the life of a salmon for the life of ayew; but the Lord God liveth for ever--the Lord God liveth for ever!"

That same night the alabaster box was broken and the precious ointmentpoured out. And on the Prior's breast they placed the golden rose, andunder the great red hawthorn in the midst of the cloister-garth theylaid him, O Lord, beneath the earth which is Thy footstool. 

At the same hour in which he was taken from us there was a great cryingand lamentation of the wild creatures in the forest, and the tall stagsbellowed and clashed their antlers against the gates of the monastery. 

In the place of Prior Oswald, Father Bede was made Prior. 

Whether the spirit of Prior Oswald ever returned to earth the book doesnot tell, but the Lost Brother, the companion of his youth, lived inthe house of Kilgrimol to old age, and in the days of Bede's rule hemade a good end. 

The King Orgulous

To and fro in the open cloister of Essalona walked the monk Desiderius, musing and musing. Every now and again he stayed in his paces to feeda tall white stork and two of her young, which stood on the parapetbetween the pillars of the cloister; and though for the most part hisdole went to the storklings, the mother was well content with hisstroking of her head and soft white backfeathers. 

Then he resumed his slow walk, turning over and over in his perplexedmind the questions of grace and nature, and praying for light in theobscure ways where reason groped darkling. Meanwhile the storks stoodgrave and patient, as if they too had matter for deep musing. 

As in this day, so in the ancient time the convent of Essalona wasperched on a beetling crag on the northern side of the Sarrasmountains. There the mighty ridge, with its belts of virgin pinewoodand its stony knolls and pastoral glens, breaks off suddenly in aprecipitous escarpment; and, a thousand feet below, the land is animmense green plain, sweeping away to the blue limits of the north. Itis as though the sea had once on a time run up to the mountain wall andtorn down the tawny rocks for sand and shingle, and had then drawn backinto the north, leaving the good acres to grow green in the sun. Through the plain winds a river, bright and slow; in many places thefruitful level is ruffled with thicket and coppice; and among the farfields the white walls of farms and hamlets glitter amid their boskage. When the clear sunlight fell on that still expanse of quiet earth, onemight see, in those days, the stone towers and sparkling pinnacles ofthe royal city of Sarras, with a soft blue feather of smoke floatingover it. 

Often had Desiderius let his eyes rest on the smoulder and gleam ofthat busy city, which was all so hushed and dreamlike in the distance, little thinking the while that one day he should dwell within itswalls, and play a strange part in the deeds that men remember. 

From the brink of the escarpment rises the rock of Essalona, and theconvent is built on the edge of the rock, in such sort that, leaningover the parapet of the open cloister, Desiderius might have dropped apebble sheer down to the plain below. A single path wound up the rockto the gate, so narrow and steep that one sturdy lay-brother might haveheld the way with a thresher's flail against a score of men-at-arms. 

[Illustration: _King Orgulous_]

Here, then, in this solitary house, Desiderius dwelt with five otherbrethren, all good and faithful men; but he, the youngest and yet themost learned in philosophy and star-lore and the sacred Scriptures andthe books of the wise, was the most meek and lowly of heart. No painsdid he spare his body or his spirit to master the deep knowledge ofdivine things. Diligent by day, he eked out the light of the starswith the lamp of the firefly, or conned his page by the dim shining ofthe glow-worm along the lines. 

Now as he mused in the cloister he stopped short with a deep sigh, andstood before the storks, and said: "Away, happy birds; you have leave. Disport yourselves, soaring very high in the sunny heavens, or takeyour rest on our roofs. I have appeased you with food; but to thehunger of my soul who shall minister?"

At his word the storks flapped their wings and rose from the parapet, and went sailing up into the sunshine; and Desiderius heard at hisshoulder a most sweet and gracious voice saying: "What is thy hunger, and wherein wouldst thou have me minister to thee?"

Turning about, Desiderius saw that it was an Angel which spoke, and hefell at the bright spirit's feet, abashed and in great dread. But theAngel raised him up, and gave him courage, saying: "O Desiderius, mostdear to me (for I am thine Angel Guardian), do not tremble to tell me;but speak to me even as thou wouldst speak to a man of thy brethren. "

Then said Desiderius: "Show to me and make plain, I pray thee, themystery of the grace of God in the heart of man. "

"Many are the mysteries of God, " said the Angel, "whereof even thehighest of the Archangels may not sustain the splendour, and this isone of them. Howbeit, if thou wilt be patient and prayerful, and wiltrepose thy trust in the Lord Christ, I will strive to show thee twopictures of thy very self--one, to wit, of the natural Adam inDesiderius, and one of the man redeemed by the blood shed for thee. Soin some wise shalt thou come to some dim light of this mystery of gracedivine. Will that suffice thee?"

"That, Lord Angel, will suffice, " said the monk, bowing low before theAngel. 

"Wait, then, and watch; and even in thy body and before thou diest thoushalt behold as I have said. "

Therewith the Angel left him, and Desiderius was aware of but the wallsand pillars of the cloister, and the bright vast plain, and, far away, the city of Sarras glittering, and the smoke sleeping like a small bluecloud above it. And the coming and going of the Angel was after thismanner. Desiderius perceived him, bright in the brightness of thesunshine, as one perceives a morsel of clear ice floating in clearwater; and when Desiderius saw him no more it was as though the clearice had melted into the clear water. 

Now after the lapse of three short years, and when he was but in histhirtieth summer, Desiderius was summoned from his cell on the lonelymountain, and, despite his tears and supplications and hisprotestations of ignorance and inexperience and extreme youth, madeArchbishop of Sarras. Only one answer was vouchsafed to him. "One ofthy vows was entire obedience, and the grace of God is sufficient forthee. "

In that same year a horde of the fierce Avars poured out from the roundgreen earth-walls of their mysterious stronghold, which lay beyondDanube, and, crossing the river, fell on Sarras; and clashing with thatravening horde, Astulf the King of Sarras was slain. 

Ill had it then fared with the folk of Sarras, city and plain alike, but for a certain Talisso, a free-rider, who from a green knoll hadwatched the onset. When he saw the slaying of the King, he plungedinto the battle, cleaving his way through the ranks of squat andswarthy Avars; and heartening the men of Sarras with his ringing cheerand battle-laughter, shaped them into wedges of sharp iron and drovethem home through the knotted wood of their foemen, till the Avars fledhot-foot to Danube water, and through the water, and beyond, and soreached the strait doorways of their earth-bound stronghold, the Hring. 

Now, seeing that the King of Sarras had left neither child nor brotherto heirship, and that their deliverer was a stalwart champion, youngand nobly statured, and handsome and gracious as he was valiant, franktoo and open-handed, and that moreover he seemed a man skilled in themastery of men and in affairs of rule, the fighting men of Sarrasthought that no better fortune could befall them than they shouldchoose this Talisso for their king. To Sarras therefore they carriedhim with them on their merry home-going, and having entered the freetown, called the Council of Elders to say yea or nay. With few wordsthe Elders confirmed the choice, and the joy-bells were rung, and greatwas the rejoicing of all men, gentle and simple, that God had sent themso goodly a man for their ruler and bulwark. 

In a week from that the city was dight and decked for the crowning ofTalisso. Garlands were hung across the streets; windows and walls weregraced with green branches and wreaths of flowers; many-coloureddraperies, variegated carpets and webs of silk and velvet hung fromparapet and balcony; once more the joy-bells were set aswing, and amida proud array of nobles and elders and gaily harnessed warriors the newKing walked under a canopy of cloth of gold to the High Church. 

There in solemn splendour the new Archbishop administered to him thekingly oath, and anointed him with the chrism of consecration, and setthe gold of power on his head, and invested him with the mantle of St. Victor and girt about him the Saint's great iron sword set with manyjewels on the apple and the cross. As the Archbishop was completingthese ordinances, he chanced to look full into the King's face for thefirst time, and as the King's eyes met his each stood still as stoneregarding the other for such a space as it would take one to countfour, telling the numbers slowly. Neither spoke, and when they whowere nearest looked to learn the cause of the stillness and thestoppage they saw with amazement that the new King and the newArchbishop were as like the one to the other as brothers who are twins. With a slow and audible drawing of the breath the Archbishop took upagain the words of the ritual, and neither looked at the other any moreat that time. 

Now, having been crowned and consecrated, Talisso ascended the steps infront of the altar, and, drawing the huge blade from its sheath, lungedwith it four times into the air--once to the north, and once to thesouth, once to the east and once to the west. Sheathing the sword, hedescended, and walking to the western portal mounted his war-horse, andpaced slowly down the street, followed by a brilliant cavalcade, to theMound of Coronation. 

Urging his steed up the ascent, he drew rein on the summit, and oncemore bared the holy brand, and, wheeling to the four quarters ofheaven, thrust it into the air in token of lordship and powerinalienable; and when he rode down the Mound to his people a great crywas raised in greeting, and four pigeons were loosed. High they flewin circles overhead, and, each choosing his own airt, darted out to thefour regions of the world to bear the news of that crowning. 

The first years of the new reign seemed to be the dawn of a Golden Agein the land of Sarras, and in those years no man was more beloved andhonoured by the King than was Archbishop Desiderius. As time passedby, however, and the evil leaven of unrestrained power began to fermentin the King's heart, and the Archbishop opposed and reproved him, gently and tenderly at first, but ever more gravely and steadfastly, coldness and estrangement divided them; and soon that strangeresemblance which gave them the aspect of twin brothers, became a rootof suspicion and dread in the King's mind, for he reasoned withhimself, "What more likely than that this masterful prelate shoulddream of wearing the crown, he who so nearly resembles the King thatthe mother of either might well pause ere she should say which was herson? A foot of iron, and a sprinkling of earth, and farewell Talisso!None would guess it was Desiderius who took his ease in thy chair. "

Thus by degrees limitless power waxed into lawlessness, and suspicionand dread into moroseness and cruelty, and on this rank soil the redweeds of lust and hate and bitter pride sprang up and choked all thatwas sweet and gracious and lovable in the nature of the man. 

Then did the wise and gentle folk of Sarras come to perceive howwoefully they had been deceived in the tyrant they had crowned, andspeedily it came to pass that when they spoke of King Talisso theybreathed not his name, but using an ancient word to signify such insaneand evil pride as that of Lucifer and the Fallen Angels, they calledhim the King Orgulous. Yet if this was the mind of the better folk, there was no lack of base and venomous creatures--flatterers, time-servers, and sycophants--to minister to his wickedness andmalignity. 

Dark were the days which now fell on Sarras, and few were those onwhich some violence or injustice, some deed of lust or rapacity was notflaunted in the face of heaven. The most noble and best men of thecity were attainted and plundered and driven into exile. Of the meanersort of folk many a poor citizen or rustic toiler went shaven andbranded, or maimed of nose and eyelids, or with black stumps searedwith pitch and an iron hook for hand. Once more the torture-chamber ofthe castle rang with the screams of poor wretches stretched on therack; and the ancient instruments of pain, which had rusted throughmany a long year of clemency, were once more reddened with the sweat ofhuman agony. 

An insatiable lust of cruelty drove the King to a sort of madness. With a fiendish malice he fashioned of wood and iron an engine oftorment which bore the likeness of a beautiful woman, but which openedwhen a spring was pressed, and showed within a hideous array of knives;and these pierced the miserable wight about whom the Image closed herarms. In blasphemous merriment the King called this woman of hismaking Our Lady of Sorrow, and in mockery of holy things he kept asilver lamp burning constantly before her, and crowned her with flowers. 

Now in the hour in which the King was left wholly to his wickedness, hedoomed to the Image the young wife of one of the chief men of Sarras. Little more than a girl was she in years; sweet and exceeding lovely;and she still suckled her first babe. 

When the tormentors would have haled her to the Image, "Forbear, " shesaid, "there is no need; willingly I go and cheerfully. " And with afearless meekness she walked before them with her little babe in herarms into the chamber of agony. 

Coming before the Image with its garland of flowers she knelt down, andprayed to the Virgin Mother of our Lord, and commended her soul and thesoul of her dear babe to our Lady and her divine Son; and the babestretched out its little hands to the Image, cooing and babbling in itsinnocence. 

Then, as though this were a spectacle to make the very stones shriekand to move the timber of the rack and the iron of the axe to humantenderness, the Image stepped down from its pedestal, and lifted upmother and child, and a wondrous light and fragrance filled the stonevault, and the tormentors fled, stricken with a mad terror. 

Down from the castle and through the streets of the hushed and weepingcity the Image led the mother and her babe to their own door, and whenthey had entered the house, and the people stood by sobbing andpraying, the Image burst into flames, and on the spot where it stoodthere remained a little heap of ashes when that burning was done. 

Judge if the land of Sarras was silent after this day of divineinterposition. Hastily summoning the Bishops of the realm, andgathering a body of men-at-arms, the Archbishop Desiderius proclaimedfrom the Jesus altar of the High Church the deposition of the KingOrgulous. Talisso was seized and stripped of his royal robes; a widthof sackcloth was wrapped about his body, and with a rope round his neckhe was led to the Mound of Coronation. There, on the height whereon hehad thrust his sword into the four regions of heaven, he received hissentence. 

Standing erect in a circle on the top of the Mound the nine Bishops ofthe realm held each a lighted torch in his hand. In the centre stoodDesiderius beside the King deposed, and holding high his torch utteredthe anathema which was to sever all bonds of plighted troth and loyaltyand service, and to cast him forth from the pale of Holy Church, and todebar him from the common charity of all Christian people. At thatmoment the Bishops marked with awe the strange resemblance betweenDesiderius and the King, and the eyes of these two met, and each wasaware how marvellously like to himself was the other. But with a clearunfaltering voice the Archbishop cried aloud the doom:

"May he be outcast from the grace of heaven and the gladness of earth. May the stones betray him, and the trees of the forest be leaguedagainst him. In want or in sickness may no hand help him. Accursedmay he be in his house and in his fields, in the water of the streamsand in the fruits of the earth. Accursed be all things that are his, from the cock that crows to awaken him to the dog that barks to welcomehim. May his death be the death of Pilate and of Judas the betrayer. May no earth be laid on the earth that was he. May the light of hislife be extinguished thus!"

And the Archbishop cast down his torch and trampled it into blackness;and crying "Amen, amen, amen!" the Bishops threw down their torches andtrod them under foot and crushed out every spark of fire. 

"Begone, " said the Archbishop, "thou art banned and banished. Ifwithin three days thy feet be found on the earth of Sarras, thou shalthang from the nearest tree. "

As he spoke the great bell of the High Church began to toll as for onewhose spirit has passed away. At the sound Talisso started; thentaking the rope from his neck and flinging it on the ground with amocking laugh, he turned and fled down the Mound and into the greenfields that lie to the north. 

Not far had he fled into the open country before the recklessness ofthe reiver and strong-thief fell on Talisso. Entering a homestead hesmote down the master, and got himself clothing and food and weapons, and seizing a horse, pushed on apace till he came to the red fieldwhere he had routed the Avars, and thence onward to Danube water. 

Beyond Danube, some days' riding into the north, lay that mysteriousstronghold, the Hring, the camp-city of the Avar robber-horde. Andthither Talisso was now speeding, for he said to himself: "They areraiders and slayers, and this kind is quick to know a _man_. They willlove me none the less that I have stricken and chased them. Ratherwill they follow me and avenge me, if not for my sake for the sake ofthe fat fields and rich towns of Sarras. "

Now the stronghold was a marvel in the manner of its contrivance, andin its size and strength; for it was bulwarked with seven rings, eachtwenty feet high and twenty feet wide, and the rings were made ofstockades of oak and beech and pine trunks, filled in with stones andearth, and covered atop with turf and thick bushes. The distanceacross the outer ring was thirty miles, and between each ring and theone within it there were villages and farms in cry of each other, andeach ring was pierced by narrow gateways well guarded. In the midst ofthe innermost ring were the tent of the Chagan or Great Chief, and theHouse of the Golden Hoard. Piled high were the chambers of that housewith the enormous treasure of a century of raiding--silken tissues androyal apparel and gorgeous arms, great vases and heavy plate of goldand silver, spoil of jewels and precious stones, leather sacks ofcoined money, the bribes and tribute of Greece and Rome, and I know notwhat else of rare and costly. Long afterwards, when the Avars werebroken and the Hring thrown down, that hoard filled fifteen greatwaggons drawn each by four oxen. 

In the very manner in which Talisso had forecast it, so it fell outwith him at the Hring. The fierce, swart, broad-shouldered dwarfs withthe almond eyes and woven pigtails gazed with glee and admiration onthe tall and comely warrior who had swept them before his sword-edge;and when he spoke of the rich markets and goodly houses and fruitfulland of Sarras their eyes glistened, and they swore by fire and waterand the four winds to avenge his wrongs. 

Little need is there to linger in telling of a swift matter. Mountedon their nimble and hardy ponies, the Avars dashed into Sarras land twohundred strong, and tarried neither to slay nor spoil, but outsped thefleet feet or rumour, till in the grey glimmer of cock-crow theysighted the towers of Sarras city. Under cover of a wood they restedtill the gates were flung wide for the early market folk. Who then butTalisso laughed his fierce and orgulous laugh as he rode at their headand they all hurled through the gates, and, clattering up the emptystreet, carried the castle out of hand?

Not a blow was struck, no drop of blood reddened iron or stone; andsuch divinity doth hedge even a wicked king dethroned that when theguards saw the tyrant once more ascending the steps of power theylowered their points and stood at a loss how to act. But Talisso, withsome touch of his pristine graciousness, bade no man flee or fear whowas willing to return to his allegiance. "First, however, of allthings, bring me hither the Archbishop; bring with ropes and horses ifneed be; but see that not a hair of his head be injured. "

Now on this same night that these Hunnish folk were pressing forward toSarras city Desiderius saw in a dream Talisso standing before thethrone of God. On his head he wore his crown, but otherwise he was butsuch as he stood for sentence on the Mound of Coronation, to wit, witha rope around his neck, and naked save for the fold of sackcloth abouthis loins. 

Beside him stood an Angel, and the Angel was speaking: "All the lustsof the flesh, and all the lusts of the eyes, and all the lusts of thewill, and the pride of life this man hath gratified and glutted tosurfeiting, yet is he as restless as the sea and as insatiable as thegrave. Speak, man, is it not so?"

And Talisso answered, with a peal of orgulous laughter: "Restless asthe sea; insatiable as the grave. "

"How then, Lord, " said the Angel, "shall this man's unrest and hungerbe stayed?"

God spoke and said: "Fill his mouth with dust. "

Then the Angel took a handful of dust and said to Talisso: "Open thymouth and eat. "

Talisso cried aloud, "I will not eat. "

"Open thy mouth, " said the Angel sternly. 

"My mouth I will not open, " replied Talisso. 

Thereupon the Angel caught him by the hair, and plucked his headbackward till his throat made a knotted white ridge above the neck, andas Talisso opened his mouth, shrieking blasphemies and laughing withfrantic rage, the Angel filled it with dust. 

Talisso fell backwards, thrusting with his feet and thrashing theground with his hands; his crown fell from his head and rolled away;his face grew set and white; and then he lay straight and rigid. 

"Hast thou filled his mouth?"

"His mouth, Lord, is filled, " the Angel answered. 

This was the dream of Desiderius. 

When citizens came running to the palace, and the Archbishop learnedhow the gates had been surprised and the castle taken, he lost no timein casting about what he should do. He sent messengers to summon theCouncil of the Elders, and bade his men-at-arms fall into array. Thenhe hastened to the High Church, and, after a brief prayer before thealtar, girt on the great sword of St. Victor, threw over his purplecassock the white mantle of the Saint, and putting on his head a wingedhelm of iron, made his way to the castle where Talisso awaited hiscapture. 

"Stay you here, " he said to his men-at-arms when they reached theportals, "and if by God's blessing work fall to your hands to do, do itdoughtily and with right good will. "

Up the high hall of the castle, through the groups of lounging Avars hewent, with great strides and eyes burning, to the dais where Talissosat apart in the royal chair. 

"Ha! well met, Lord Archbishop, " cried the dethroned King, springing tohis feet at the sight of him. 

"Well met, Talisso, " replied Desiderius in a loud voice. "With no moreado I now tell thee that for thee there is but one end. Thy mouth mustbe filled with dust. "

As he spoke, Desiderius flung back his mantle and drew the holy sword. Heaving it aloft he struck mightily at Talisso. From the King's helmetglanced the keen brand, and descending to the shoulder shore away theplates of iron, and bit the flesh. 

Once more the great sword was swung up, for Desiderius neither heardnor heeded the cry and rush of the Avars; but or ever the stroke couldfall Desiderius saw the Angel of Essalona by his side and felt his handrestraining the blade; and at the same instant the figure before him, the figure of the King Orgulous, grew dim and hazy, and wavered, andbroke like smur blown along a wooded hillside, and vanished from hisgaze. 

"A little truer stroke, " said the Angel, "and thou hadst slain thyself, for of a truth the man thou wast slaying was none other than thyself;as it is, thou art hurt more than need was"--for the shoulder of theArchbishop was bare, and the blood streamed from it. 

Bewildered at these words, Desiderius gazed about to see if the highhall and the Avars were but the imagery of a dream. But there in frontof him stood the dwarfish tribe, with naked brands and battle-axes. These, when they looked on his face, raised a hoarse cry of terror, forthey too had beheld Talisso, how at a blow of the magic sword he hadfallen and perished even from the vision of men, and now they saw thathe who had slain the King was himself the King. Howling andclamouring, they broke from the hall and fled into the street; andthere the men-at-arms did right willingly and doughtily the work whichthus came to their hands. Of that fierce and uncouth robber horde, which rode to Sarras two hundred strong, scarce two score saw Danubewater again. 

When Desiderius knew for a surety that the natural man within him wasverily that King wicked and orgulous, and understood that the sins ofthat evil King were the sins he himself would have committed but forthe saving grace of God, a great awe fell upon him, and he was abashedwith a grievous dread lest the King Orgulous were not really dead anddone with, but were sleeping still, like the Kings of old legend, insome dusky cavern of his nature, ready to awake and break forth withsword and fire. Gladly would he have withdrawn to the solitude of thelittle convent on the beetling crag, far from the temptations of powerand the splendour and tumult of life; but the same answer was given tohim now as had been given to him of old: "One of thy vows was entireobedience, and the grace of God is sufficient for thee. "

The Journey of Rheinfrid

On the green skirts of the Forest of Arden there was a spot which thewindings of the Avon stream had almost made into an island, and here inthe olden time the half-savage herdsmen of King Ethelred kept vastdroves of the royal swine. The sunny loops of the river cut clearingson the east and south and west, but on the north the Forest lay denseand dark and perilous. For in those ancient days wolves still prowledabout the wattled folds of the little settlement of Wolverhampton, andBirmingham was only the rude homestead of the Beormingas, a cluster ofbeehive huts fenced round with a stockade in the depths of the woods. 

Among the swineherds of the King there was one named Eoves, and oneday, while wandering through the glades of great oaks on this edge ofthe Forest, he saw three beautiful women who came towards him singing asong more strange and sweet than he had ever heard. He told hisfellows, and the story spread far and wide. Some said that the threebeautiful women were three goddesses of the old pagan world, andthought Eoves had acted very foolishly in not speaking to them. Otherssaid they might have been the Three Fates, in whose hands are the livesof men, and the joy of their lives, and the sorrow they must endure, and the death which is the end of their days; and they thought thatperhaps Eoves had been wise to keep silence. 

But when the holy Bishop Egwin heard the tale, he visited the placealone, and in the first glimmer of the sunrise, when all wild creaturesare tame and the earth is most lovely to look upon, he beheld the threebeautiful women, and he saw in a moment that they were the VirginMother Mary and two heavenly handmaidens. "And our Lady, " he usedafterwards to say, "was more white-shining than lilies and more freshlysprung than roses, and the savage forest was filled with the fragranceof Paradise. "

Straightway the Bishop sent his woodmen and had the aged oaks felledand the underwood cleared away; and on the spot where the beautifulwomen had stood a fair church was built for the worship of the trueGod, and around it clustered the cells of an abbey of Black Monks. Ina little while people no longer spoke of the place by its old name, butcalled it Eovesholme, because of the vision of Eoves. 

Now when more than three and a half centuries had gone by, and Agelwynthe Great-hearted was Abbot, there was a Saxon noble, young anddissolute, who had been stricken by the Yellow Plague, and, after threedays' sickness, had been abandoned by his friends and followers in whatseemed to be his last agony. For the Yellow Plague was a sickness soghastly and dreadful that men called it the Yellow Death, and fled fromit as swiftly as they might. But in the dead and dark of the thirdnight a beautiful Child, crowned with roses and bearing in his hand arose, had come to the dying thane and said: "Now mayest thou see thatthe best the world can give--call it by what name thou wilt and prizeit at its utmost worth--is nothing more than these: wind and smoke anda dream and a flower. But though all have fled from thee and left theeto die alone in grievous plight, this night thou shalt not die. "

Then he was bidden to rise on the morrow--"for strength shall be giventhee, " said the Child--and travel with the sun westward till he came tothe Abbey of Egwin, and there he must tell the Abbot all that hadbefallen him. 

"And the good Abbot will receive thee among his sons, " said the Child;"and after that, in a little while, thou shalt go on a journey, andthen again in a little while shalt come to me. "

On the morrow Rheinfrid the thane rose from his bed hale and strong, but his whole nature was changed; and he made no more account of lifeand of all that makes life sweet--as honour and wealth and joy and useand the love of man and woman--than one makes of wind and smoke and adream and a flower; and all that he greatly desired was to undertakethe journey which had been foretold, and to see once more the Child ofthe Roses. 

Westward he rode with the sun and came at nightfall to the Abbey ofEovesholme; and there he told Agelwyn the Abbot the story of his wildlife and his sickness and the service that had been laid upon him. 

The Abbot embraced him, saying, "Son, welcome art thou to our house, and thy home shall it be till the time comes for thy journey. "

For a whole year Rheinfrid was a novice in the house, and when the yearhad gone by he took the vows. In the presence of the brotherhood hecast himself on the pavement before the high altar, and the pall of thedead was laid over him, and the monks sang the dirge of the dead, fornow he was indeed dying to this world. And from his head they cut thelong hair, and clothed him in the habit of a monk, and henceforth hewas done with all earthly things and was one of themselves. 

"Surely, now, " he thought, "the time of my journey draws near. " Butone year and a second and yet a third passed away, and there came tohim no call, and he grew wearied with waiting, and weariness begotsullenness and discontent, and he questioned himself: "Was it not adream of sickness which deceived me? An illusion of pain and darkness?Why should I waste my life within these walls?" But immediatelyafterwards he was filled with remorse, and confessed his thoughts tothe Abbot. 

"Have faith and patience, my son, " said Agelwyn. "Consider the manyyears God waited for thee, and grew not impatient with thy delay. WhenHis good time comes thou shalt of a certainty set out on thy journey. "

So for a while Rheinfrid ceased to repine, and served faithfully in theAbbey. 

In the years which followed, William the Norman came into these partsand harried whole shires on account of the rebels and broken men whohaunted the great roads which ran through the Forest. Cheshire andShropshire, Stafford and Warwick were wasted with fire and sword. Andcrowds naked and starving--townsmen and churls, men young and old, maidens and aged crones, women with babes in their arms and little onesat their knees--came straggling into Eovesholme, fleeing mostsorrowfully from the misery of want. 

In the little town they lay, indoors and out, and it was now that theAbbot got himself the name of the Great-hearted. For he gave his monksorders that all should be fed and cared for; and daily from his owntable he sent food for thirty wanderers whom he named his guests, anddaily in memory of the love of Christ he washed the feet of twelveothers, and never shrank from the unhappy lepers among them. But forall his care the people died lamentably from grief and sickness--on noday fewer than five or six between prime and compline; and these poorsouls were buried by the brethren. Of the little children that wereleft to the mothering of the east wind, some were adopted by the canonsand priests of the Abbey church, and others by the monks. 

In his eagerness to help and solace, the Abbot even sent forthmessengers to bring in the fugitives to refuge. Now on a day thatRheinfrid went out on this work of mercy, he met at a crossway a numberof peasants fleeing before a dozen Norman men-at-arms. He raised hisarm and called to them to make a stand, but they were too muchterrified to heed him. Then he saw that one of the soldiers had seizedby the hair a fair Saxon woman with a babe at her bosom, and with agreat cry he bade him let her go, for his blood was hot within him ashe thought of the Saxon woman who had carried him in her arms andsuckled him when he was but such a little child. But the Norman onlylaughed and turned the point of his sword against the monk. 

Then awoke the long line of thanes slumbering in wild caves and darkways of his soul, and with a mighty drive of his fist he struck theman-at-arms between the eyes, so that he fell like a stone. Withsavage curses the knave's comrades rushed in against the monk, butRheinfrid caught up the Norman's sword, and with his grip on the hiltof it his old skill in war-craft came back to him, and he carriedhimself like a thane of the old Sea-wolves, and the joy of battledanced in his eyes. 

Ill was it then for those marauders. One of them he clove through theiron cap; the neck of another he severed with a sweep of the bitterblade. 

And now that he was fighting he remembered his calling, and with aclear voice he chanted the great psalm of the man who has sinned:"Miserere mei Deus--Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thyloving-kindness; according unto the multitude of Thy tender merciesblot out my transgressions. "

The strength of ten was in his body, and verse by verse he laid theNormans low, till of the troop no more than two were left. These werefalling back before him as he pressed onward chanting his Miserere, when a body of horsemen rode up and drew rein to watch the issue. 

"By the Splendour of God!" cried the leader, as he glanced at the womanand scanned the number of the dead tumbled across the road, "it is a_Man_!"

Rheinfrid looked up at the new comer, and saw a gigantic, ruddy-facedman of forty, clad in chain mail and wearing a circlet of gold abouthis massive head. At once he felt sure that he was face to face withthe Master of England. Still he kept his sword's point raised foranother attack, and with a quiet frankness met the Conqueror'simperious gaze. 

"Ha, monk! hast thou no fear of me?" cried William, frowning. 

"Lord King, hast thou no fear of God?" Rheinfrid retorted. 

For a moment the King's haughty eyes blazed with wrath, but Williamever loved a strong man and dauntless, and he laughed gaily: "Nay, thouhast slain enough for one day; let us cry truce, and tell me of whathouse thou comest. "

So Rheinfrid spoke to the King about Eovesholme, and the Abbot, and theharbouring of the miserable fugitives, and told the tale of his ownfighting that day. And the great Norman was well pleased, andafterwards he gave Agelwyn the custody of Winchcombe Abbey when theabbot of that house fell under his displeasure. As for Rheinfrid hetook the woman and her babe into the town; and many others he rescuedand succoured, but he neither slew nor smote any man thereafter. 

Now for eight long years Rheinfrid lived in the quiet of the cloister, striving to be patient and to await God's own time; and his dailyprayer was that of the Psalmist: "How long wilt Thou forget me, O Lord?For ever? How long wilt Thou hide Thy face from me?"

In the ninth year, after long sickness, the soul of Agelwyn passed outof the shadow of this flesh unto the clemency of God, and shortly afterhis death a weariness of well-doing and a loathing of the dull days ofprayer beset Rheinfrid; and voices of the joy of life called to him tostrip off his cowl and flee from his living tomb. 

As he knelt struggling with the temptation the little Child crownedwith roses stood beside him, looking at him with sad reproachful eyes. "Couldst thou not be patient a little while?" he asked. 

"A little while!" exclaimed Rheinfrid; "see! twelve, thirteen, longyears have gone by, and is that a little while?"

But the Child answered gravely: "An evil thing is impatience with thedelays of God, to whom one day is as a thousand years, and a thousandyears as one day. "

And Rheinfrid knew not what reply to make, and as he hesitated theChild began to fade away. "Do not go, do not go yet, " he cried; "grantme at least one prayer--that I shall see thee again at the time I shallhave most need of thee. "

And the Child smiled and answered: "Thou shalt see me. "

And the vision disappeared, but the fragrance of the roses lingeredlong in the little cell. 

Then was Walter the Norman made Abbot, and forthwith he began to builda vast and beautiful minster, the fame of which should be rumouredthrough all the land. Speedily he emptied the five great chests filledwith silver which Agelwyn had left, and then there set in a dearth oftimber and stone and money, but the Abbot bethought him of a device forescaping from his difficulties. He took into his counsel the wisemonks Hereman and Rheinfrid, because they had both travelled throughmany shires, and he entrusted to them the shrine containing the relicsof St. Egwin, and bade them go on a pilgrimage from one rich city toanother, making known their need, exhorting the people to charity, andgathering gifts of all kinds for the building of the minster. So withlay-brothers to serve them and a horse to carry the holy shrine, themonks began their journey, and, singing joyful canticles, thebrotherhood accompanied them with cross and banners and burning tapers, and set them well on their way beyond the river. 

Now think of Rheinfrid and Hereman traversing the wild England of thoseolden times. One day they were wandering in the depths of the woods;on another they were moving along some neglected Roman road, throughswamps and quagmires. Now they were passing hastily through the ruinsof some Saxon thorpe which had been burned by the Normans, or lodgingfor the night as guests at some convent or priory, or crossing adangerous river-ford, or making a brief stay in a busy town to preachand exhibit the shrine of the saint, so that the diseased and sufferingmight be touched by the miraculous relics. And all along their journeythey gathered the offerings which the people brought them. 

"This, surely, " thought Rheinfrid, "is the journey appointed me, " andhis spirit was at last peaceful and contented. 

Now in the third week of their pilgrimage they came to a wide moorwhich they had to cross. A heavy white mist lay on the lonely waste, and they had not gone far among the heath and grey boulders beforeRheinfrid, absorbed in prayer, found himself separated from hiscompanions. He called aloud to them by their names, but no oneanswered him. This way and that he wandered, still crying aloud, andhoping to discover some trace of the faint path which led over themoor. Suddenly he came to the brink of a vast chasm, the depth ofwhich was hidden by the mist. It was a terrible place and he thankedGod that he had not come thither in the darkness of the night. As hegazed anxiously on all sides, wondering what he should do next, heperceived through the vapour a tall dark figure. Approaching it, hesaw that it was a high stone cross, and he murmured gratefully, "Here Iam safe. The foot of Thy cross is an ever-lasting refuge. " As heascended the rough granite steps, he noticed how wonderfully the crosswas sculptured, with a vine running up the shaft, and birds and smallwild creatures among the vine-leaves, and he was able to read, in thecentre, words from a famous old poem which he knew:

 _Rood is my name; long ago I bore a goodly King; trembling, _ _dripping with blood. _

As he read them he became aware that some one had come out of the mistand was standing near him. "In the darkness the danger is great, " saidthe stranger; "another step would have carried thee over the brink; andnone who have fallen therein have ever returned. But the wind isrising, and this mist will speedily be lifted. "

While he was yet speaking a great draught of air drove the mist beforeit, and shifted and lifted it, and rolled it like carded wool, and infront all was clear, but the light was of an iron-grey transparency, and Rheinfrid saw into the depths of the chasm into which he hadwell-nigh fallen. 

Far down below lay the jagged ridges and ghastly abysses of a giganticcrater, the black walls of which were so steep that it was impossibleto climb them. Smoke and steam rose in incessant puffs from theinnermost pit of the crater and trailed along the floor and about therocky spikes and jagged ridges. 

Then, as Rheinfrid gazed, his face grew pale, and he turned to thestranger. 

"What are these, " he asked, "men, or little statues of men, orstrangely shaped rocks?"

"They are living men and women, " said the stranger. 

"They seem as small as images, " said Rheinfrid. 

"They are very far distant from us, " replied the stranger, "although wesee them so clearly. "

"There seem to be hundreds of them standing in crowds, " said Rheinfrid. 

"There are thousands and hundreds of thousands, " said the stranger. 

"And they do not move; they are motionless as stone; they do not evenseem to breathe. "

"They are waiting, " said the stranger. 

"Their faces are all turned upward; they are all staring in one way. "

"They are watching, " said the stranger. 

"Why are they watching?" asked Rheinfrid; then looking up into theiron-grey air in the same direction as the faces of the people in thecrater; "What huge ball is that hanging in the sky above them?"

"It is a globe of polished stone--the stone adamant, which of allstones is the hardest. "

"Why do they gaze at it so steadfastly?"

"Not hard to say, " replied the stranger. "Every hundred years a littleblue bird passes by, flying between them and the globe, and as itpasses it touches the stone with the tip of its wing. On the last dayof the hundredth year the people gather and watch with eager eyes allday for the passing of the bird, and while they watch they do notsuffer. Now this is the last hour of the last day of the hundredthyear, and you see how they gaze. "

"But why do they watch to see the bird?"

"Each time the bird passes it touches the stone, and every hundredyears it will thus touch it, till the stone be utterly worn away. "

"Ten thousand ages, and yet again ten thousand, and it will not havebeen worn away, " said Rheinfrid. "But when it has been worn away, whatthen?"

"Why, then, " said the stranger, "Eternity will be no nearer to its endthan it is now. But see! see!"

Rheinfrid looked, and beheld a little blue bird flash across the hugeball of glimmering adamant, brush it with the tip of a single feather, and dart onward. 

And down in the crater all the faces were turned away again, and thecrowd fell into such confusion as an autumn gale makes among the fallenleaves in a spinney; and out of the innermost pit the smoke and steamrose in clouds, till only the jagged ridges were visible; and a longcry of a myriad voices deadened by the deep distance rose like theterrible ghost of a cry from the abyss. 

And this was one of the Seven Cries of the World. 

For the Seven Cries of the World are these: the Cry of the Blood ofAbel, and the Cry of the Deluge of Waters, and the Cry for theFirst-born of Egypt, and the Cry of the Cities of the Plain, and theCry of Rachel in Ramah, and the Cry in the darkness of the ninth hour, and, more grievous than any of these, the Cry of the Doom of the Pit. 

"Truly, " said Rheinfrid, shivering, "one day is as a thousand years inthe sight of the Lord. "

"Come with me, and I will guide thee from this place, " said thestranger. And he led the way along the brink of the gulf till theycame to a bridge, high and narrow and fragile, glittering like glass;but when Rheinfrid touched it he perceived it was built of ice, andbeneath it ran a fierce river of fire, and they felt the heat of theriver on their faces, and the ice of the bridge was dissolving away. 

"How shall I pass this without falling?" asked Rheinfrid. 

"Follow in my steps, " said the stranger, "and all will be well. "

He led the way on the slippery ice-work of the bridge, and in greatfear and doubt Rheinfrid followed; but when they reached the crown ofthe arch the stranger threw aside his cloak and spread six mightywings, and sprang from the bridge to the peak of a high mountain farbeyond the burning river. The bridge cracked and swayed, and piecesbroke away from the icy parapet. 

With a shriek of terror Rheinfrid sank down, and called upon God tohelp him. Then as he prayed he felt wings growing on his shoulders, and a terrible eager joy and dread possessed him, for he felt the iceof the bridge melting away, and the water of the melting ice wassplashing like rain on the river of fire, and as each drop fell alittle puff of white steam arose from the place where it fell. So, unable to wait till the wings had grown full, he rose to his feet, andattempted to follow the Angel. But his wings were too weak to bearhim, and he fell clinging to the bridge, which shook beneath him. 

Once more he prayed; once more his impatience urged him to rise; andonce more he fell. And the melted ice rained hissing into the river offire, and the quick whiffs of white vapour came up from the surface. 

Then he committed himself to God's keeping, and waited in meekness andfortitude, saying, "Whether we live or we die we are in Thy charge, "and it seemed to him that, so long as it was God's will, it matterednot at all what happened--whether the bridge crumbled away, dissolvinglike a rainbow in the clouds, or whether his body were engulfed in thetorrent of burning. 

Then straightway, as he submitted himself thus, his wings grew largeand strong, and he felt the power of them lifting him to his feet, andwith what seemed no more than the effort of a wish he sprang fromnarrow way of ice and stood beside the Angel on the mountain. 

"Hadst thou not been twice impatient in the cloister, " said the Angel, "thy wings would not have twice failed thee on the bridge. Now, lookaround and see!"

Who shall tell the loveliness of the land on which Rheinfrid now gazedfrom the mountain? To breathe the clear shining air was in itselfbeatitude. He saw angelic figures and heard the singing of angels inthe heavenly gardens glittering far below, and he longed to fly down totheir blessed companionship. Suddenly over the tree-tops of a goldenglade he descried a starry globe which shone like chrysoprase, andround and round it a little blue bird flew joyously. And so swiftly itflew that hardly had it gone before it had returned again. 

Rheinfrid turned to the Angel to question him, but the Angel, who wasaware of his thoughts, said, "Yes, it is the same globe, only we see itnow from the other side. Each circle that the bird makes is a hundredyears; for five hundred already have you been here, but you must nowreturn. "

Then the Angel touched the monk's head, and Rheinfrid closed his eyes, and in an instant it seemed to him as though he were awaking from along sleep. Cold and rigid were his limbs, and as he tried to sit upeach movement made them ache. He found that he had been lying under anaged oak. He rubbed his hands together for warmth, and a white lichenwhich had overgrown them peeled off in long threads. A heavy whitebeard, tangled with grey moss, covered his breast, and the hair of hishead, white and matted with green tendrils, had grown about his body. 

Slowly and painfully he moved from tree to tree till he reached a broadroad, and saw before him a bridge, and beyond the river a fair townclustered on the higher ground. So strange a town he had never beheldbefore--such a town as one sees in a foreign land, built with quaintroofs and gables and curiously coloured. As he crossed the bridge hemet a woman who stared at him in amazement. He raised his head tospeak, but he had lost the power of utterance. The woman waited; andat last with a feeble stammering speech he asked her the name of theplace. She shook her head and said she did not understand his words, and with a look of pity she went on her way. 

Then down to the bridge came an urchin, and Rheinfrid repeated hisquestion. 

"This is Eovesholme, " said the lad. 

"That cannot be, " said Rheinfrid, "for it is little more than twiceseven days since I left Eovesholme, and this place is noway like theplace you name. "

"Nay, but it is Eovesholme, " replied the lad, "and you are one of themonks who used to be here before the King pulled down the Abbey. "

"Pulled down the Abbey! Hath King William pulled down the Abbey?"Rheinfrid asked in bewilderment. 

"Nay, it is bluff King Hal who has pulled the Abbey down. Come, andyou shall see. "

The lad took Rheinfrid by the hand and led him through the streets tillthey came to the ruins. Only one beautiful sculptured arch was leftstanding, but Rheinfrid had never seen it before. They passed throughand stood among a litter of stones, tumbled drums of pillars andfragments of carved mouldings and capitals. Rheinfrid recognised thespot. The land was the same, and the river, and the far hills, butnearly all the forest had been cleared, and the Abbey had vanished. What had happened to him and to them?

"Hast thou where to pass the night, old father?" the lad asked. 

Rheinfrid shook his head sorrowfully. 

"Then I will show thee a place, " he said. 

And again he took Rheinfrid by the hand, and let him among the ruinstill they came to a flight of stone steps which led down into the cryptof the minster. These they descended, and there was a dim light in theplace, and Rheinfrid's heart beat quickly, for he knew the pillars andvaulted roofs and walls of this undercroft. 

"Here you may rest peacefully and sleep well, " said the urchin; "no onewill venture here to disturb your slumber. "

"Sorrow be far from thee, little son, " said Rheinfrid, speaking heperceived that it was the Child, and that the Child's head was crownedwith roses and that he carried a rose in his hand. 

Then the aged monk sank on the cold stones of his old minster, faintand happy, for he knew now that he had finished his journey. But theChild touched Rheinfrid's brow with the rose he carried, and the oldman fell asleep, and all the crypt was dark. 

Lighting the Lamps

Now that it was the cool of the day (when God walked in Paradise), andthe straggling leaves of the limes were swaying in the fresh stream ofthe breeze, and the book was finished--this very book--and at last, after many busy evenings I was free to do as I pleased, W. V. And Islipped away on a quiet stroll before bedtime. 

It was really very late for a little girl--nearly nine o'clock; butwhen one _is_ a little girl a walk between sunset and dark is like aramble in fairyland; and after the heat of the day the air was sweetand pleasant, and in the west there still lingered a beautifulafterglow. 

We went a little way in the direction of the high trees of Caen Wood, where, you know, William the Conqueror had a hunting lodge; and as wepassed under the green fringes of the rowans and the birches whichoverhung the pathway, it was delightful to think that perchance overthis very ground on which we were walking the burly Master of Englandmay have galloped in chase of the tall deer. 

"He loved them as if he were their father, " said W. V. , glancing up atme with a laugh. "My history book says that. But it wasn't very niceto kill them if he loved them, was it, father?"

We turned down the new road they are making. It runs quite into thefields for some distance, and then goes sharp to the right. A pleasantsmell of hay was blowing up the road, and when we reached the angle wesaw two old stacks and the beginning of a new one; and the next fieldhad been mown and was dotted with haycocks. 

On the half-finished road a steam roller stood, with its tarpaulindrawn over it for the night. In the field, along the wooden fence, some loads of dross had been shot between the haycocks; lengths of sodhad been stripped off the soil and thrown in a heap, and planks hadbeen laid down for the wheelbarrows. A rake, which some haymaker hadleft, stood planted in the ground, teeth uppermost; beside it alabourer's barrow lay overturned. A few yards away a thick elderberrybush was growing dim in the twilight, and its bunches of blossom lookedcuriously white and spectral. 

I think even W. V. Felt it strange to see this new road so brusquelyinvading the ancient fields. I looked across the frank natural acres(as if they were a sort of wild creature), stretching away with theirhedgerows and old trees to the blue outline of the hills on thehorizon, and wondered how much longer one might see the rose-red ofsunset showing through interlaced branches, or dark knots of coppicesilhouetted against the grey-green breadths of tranquil twilight. 

When we went a little further we caught sight among the trees of someout-buildings of the farm. What a lost, pathetic look they had!

Thinking of the stories in my book, it seemed to me that the scenebefore me was a figure of the change which took place when the life weknow invaded and absorbed the strange mediaeval life which we know nolonger, and which it is now so difficult to realise. 

Slowly the afterglow faded; when you looked carefully for a star, hereand there a little speck of gold could be found in the heavens; thebirds were all in their nests, head under wing; white and grey mothswere beginning to flutter to and fro. 

Suddenly over the fields the sound of church-bells floated to us. 

"Is that the Angelus, father?" asked W. V. 

"No, dear; I think it must be the ringers practising. "

"If it had been the Angelus, would St. Francis have stood still to saythe prayer?"

"I think he would have knelt down to say it. That would be more likeSt. Francis. "

"And would William the Conqueror?"

"Why, no; I fancy he would have taken it for the curfew bell. "

"They do still ring the curfew bell in some places, don't they, father?"

"Oh yes; in several places; but, of course, they don't cover up theirfires. "

"I like to hear of those old bells; don't you, father?"

As we reached the end of the new road we saw the man lighting the lampthere; and we watched him going quickly from one post to another, leaving a little flower of fire wherever he stopped. All was veryquiet, and, as he went down the street, we could hear the sound of hisfootsteps growing fainter and fainter in the distance. All ourstreets, you must know, are lined with trees, trees both in the gardensand on the side-walks, and the lamps glittered among the leaves andbranches like so many stars. When we passed under them we noticed howthe light tinged the foliage that was nearest with a greenishash-colour, almost like the undersides of aspen-leaves. 

"Isn't it just like a fairy village?" asked W. V. 

On our way down our own street I pointed silently to the Forest. Highover the billowy outline of the darkened tree-tops the church of theOak-men was clear against the weather-gleam. W. V. Nodded: "I expectall the Oak boys and girls have said, 'God bless this house from thatchto floor, ' and gone to bed long ago. " Since she heard the story of theGuardians of the Door, that has been her own favourite prayer atbed-time. 

Thinking of the lighting of the lamps after she had been safely tuckedin, I tried to make her a little song about it. I don't think she willlike it as much as she liked the actual lighting of the lamps, but inyears to come it may remind her of that delightful spectacle. 

THE LAMPLIGHTER

 From lamp to lamp, from street to street, He speeds with faintlier echoing feet, A pause--a glint of light! And, lamp by lamp, with stars he marks his round. 

 So Love, when least of Love we dream, Comes in the dusk with magic gleam. A pause--a touch--so slight! And life with clear celestial lights is crowned.