But sorrow was through all the land, And b.l.o.o.d.y deeds, and strife, For the cruel heathen Emperor Was slaying Christian life.

And Nola of Campania Was full of soldiers grim, Who sought where good Saint Felix dwelt, To be the death of him.

For he, the Bishop, old and wise, Was famous far and near, And to the troubled Christian folk His name was pa.s.sing dear.

Saint Felix would not run away, But thought no shame to hide Until the b.l.o.o.d.y storm pa.s.sed o'er, And he might safely bide.

And so he doffed his Bishop's robe, And donned a Pilgrim's dress, With hat and staff and sandal-shoon, So none his name would guess.

Now as Saint Felix, bent and gray, Was tottering down the street, A band of soldiers, fierce and wild, The old man chanced to meet.

"Ho! Pilgrim," cried the Captain stern, Who stopped him with his sword, "Answer me truly, or thy life Shall pay the lying word.

"We sought for Felix at his home, We find him not, alas!

Say, hast thou met him, for within The hour he did pa.s.s?

"Say, hast thou met him? Tell us true, Or thou shalt lose thy head."

Saint Felix looked him in the eyes, "I _met_ him not," he said.

So then the soldiers let him pa.s.s,-- But he had spoken truth,-- And hurried forward on their search, A fruitless quest, in sooth!

And good Saint Felix hastened too, As quickly as he might, For they would guess full soon, he knew, How he had tricked their sight.

And truly, ere his oaken staff Had helped his feeble feet To win a mile, he heard their shouts A-nearing down the street.

He heard the clashing of their swords, Their voices' cruel roar, Alack! the chase was almost done, For he could speed no more.

All breathless, worn, and clean forspent He looked about him there; He spied a tiny ray of hope, And made a little prayer.

There was a broken, ruined wall That crumbled by the road, And through a cleft Saint Felix crept, And in a corner bode.

It was a sorry hiding-place, That scarce could hope to 'scape The keen sight of those b.l.o.o.d.y men, For murder all agape.

But lo! in answer to his prayer Made in the Holy Name, To help Saint Felix in his need A little spider came.

And there across the narrow hole Through which Saint Felix fled, The spider spun a heavy web Out of her silken thread.

So fast she spun, so faithfully, That when the soldiers came To pause beside the ruined wall And shout the Bishop's name.

They found a silken curtain there Wherethrough they could not see; And "Ho!" they said, "he is not here, Look, look! it cannot be;

"No one has pa.s.sed this spider's web For many and many a day, See, men, how it is thick and strong;"

And so they went away.

And this is how Saint Felix fared To 'scape the threatened doom, Saved by a little spider's web, Spun from her wondrous loom.

For when the soldiers all had pa.s.sed It luckily befell, Among the ruins of the walls He found a half-dug well.

And there he hid for many months, Safe from the eager eyes Of all those cruel soldier-men And money-seeking spies.

And on the eve when this thing happed, It chanced a Christian dame Was pa.s.sing by the ruined wall Calling her Bishop's name.

For well she knew he must be hid, And came to bring him food; And so he answered from the well, Saint Felix, old and good.

And for the many weary months She came there, day by day, All stealthily to bring him bread, So no one guessed the way.

And when at last the peace was made, Saint Felix left his well.

What welcome of his folk he had There are no words to tell!

SAINT FRONTO'S CAMELS

THIS is a story of Egypt. In the midst of a great yellow sea of sand was a tiny green island of an oasis. Everywhere else the sunlight burned on sand and rocks and low, bare hills to the west. But here there was shade under the palm-trees, and a spring of cool, clear water. It seemed a pleasant place, but the men who were living here were far from happy.

There was grumbling and discontent; there were sulky looks and frowns.

Yet these men were trying to be holy hermits, to live beautiful lives and forget how to be selfish. But it is hard to be good when one is starving.

There were seventy of them in this lonely camp in the desert,--seventy hungry monks, who for many days had had only a few olives to eat. And they blamed one man for all their suffering. It was Fronto who had induced them to leave the pleasant monastery at Nitria, where the rest of their brethren were living in peace and plenty. It was Fronto who had led them into this miserable desert to serve G.o.d in solitude, as holy men loved to do in the early days of Christendom.

Fronto was a holy man, full of faith and courage. He had promised that they should be fed and cared for in the desert even though they took no care for themselves, and they had believed him. So each monk took a few olives in his pouch and a double-p.r.o.nged hoe to dig and plant corn with, and followed Fronto into the desert.

After trudging many days they found this spot, far to the east, where no caravans would come to interrupt them, for it was out of the way of travel. But soon also they found their provisions gone and no others forthcoming. What were they to do? They asked Fronto, but he only bade them be patient. It was when they had borne the pangs of hunger for several days that they began to grumble and talk of returning home. But Fronto was indignant. "The Lord will provide," he said, "O ye of little faith!" And he bade them go to work and try to forget their hunger. The monks drew the cords tighter about their waists. But that did little good. They had never fasted like this before! Day by day they grew more pale and thin, and their long robes flapped about their lean limbs. The few dates which grew on the palm-trees of their oasis were long since eaten, and the poor monks went about chewing the knotted ends of their rope girdles, trying to pretend that it was bread. Oh, how they longed for even a bit of the hard black bread which was Lenten fare at the monastery beyond the hills!

Day by day they grew more hollow-cheeked and despairing. At last one evening they came to Fronto in a body--such a weak, pale body. "Take us back to Nitria, or we starve!" they cried. "We can endure this no longer!"

Fronto stood before them even more pale and worn than the rest, but with the light of beautiful trust in his eyes. "Wait yet a little longer, brothers," he begged. "We are bidden to take no thought to the morrow, what we shall eat and drink"--

"Nay, 'tis to-day we think of," interrupted the monks. "If we could eat to-day we would indeed take no thought of the morrow. But we starve!"

"Patience, brothers," continued the Saint wearily. "If we return now we shall show that we distrust G.o.d's promise. Wait till to-morrow. If help come not then, I give ye leave to go, without me. I shall not return."

The monks withdrew, still grumbling and unhappy. But the words of the Saint had made some impression, and they agreed to wait until morning.

Each monk stretched himself on his goatskin mat on the floor of the little cell which he had dug in the sand. And with groans of hunger mingled in their prayers they tried to go to sleep and forget how long it was since their last breakfast.

But Fronto could not sleep. He was sad and disappointed because his brothers had lost their faith, and because he felt alone, deserted in this desert by the friends who should have helped him with their sympathy and trust. All night he knelt on his goatskin mat praying that the Lord would fulfill His promise now, and prove to the doubting monks how mistaken their lack of faith had been. The other monks slept a hungry sleep about him, dreaming of delicious things to eat. Now and then one of them would cry out: "Another help of pudding, please;" or "Brother, will you pa.s.s the toast?" or "Thank you, I will have an egg, brother." And Fronto wept as he heard how faint their voices were.

At last the pink fingers of morning began to spread themselves over the face of the sky, pinching its cheeks into a rosy red. Suddenly Fronto, who was on his knees with his back to the door of his cell, started.

Hark! what sound was that which came floating on the fresh morning air?

Surely, the tinkle of a bell. The good Saint rose from his mat and went hastily to the door, his sure hope sending a smile to his pale lips and color to his hollow cheek. He knew that his prayer was answered. And lo!

away in the northwest he saw a thread of black, crawling like a caterpillar over the sand toward his oasis. Nearer and nearer it came; and now he could see plainly what it was,--a line of great rocking camels, the little tinkling bells on whose harness gave the signal that hope was at hand.

But the sound had waked the other monks. With a cry of joy they came tumbling out of their cells and rushed toward the camels, which were now close to the camp. How the poor monks ran, to be sure, many of them tripping over the skirts of their long robes and falling flat in the sand from their weakness and excitement. They were like men on a sinking ship who had just caught sight of a rescuing sail. Some of them jumped up and down and clapped their hands like children, they were so glad.

And tears stood in the eyes of nearly all.

There were seventy camels, soft-eyed gentle creatures, whose flat feet held them up on the soft sand like snowshoes. They bore packs upon their backs which promised good things, and they came straight to the cell of Fronto, where they stopped. And what a welcome they received! The monks threw their arms about the beasts' necks, as they knelt on the sand, and kissed the soft noses as though they were greeting long-lost brothers.

They were so glad to see the camels themselves that they almost forgot to wonder whence they came, or what they were bringing. But Fronto was looking for their owner, for the man who drove them. There was no one to be found. They had come all alone across the desert, without any one to guide them. Fronto's face was full of joy. "The Lord has sent them!"

he said. And the other monks bowed their heads, and were ashamed because they had doubted.