g^wudiui^ 
 
 ui 
 
 iJoho. 
 
 WELVE STORIES FOR CHILDREN AND THEIR 
 
 FRIENDS. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 MARY HELEN CAMPBELL. 
 
 'And without a parable spake he not unto them."— St. Matthew xii. ,?)• 
 
 ptonfrtHl: 
 WILLIAM I) K VSl) A l.f: A; CO. 
 
 1884. 
 
Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year 1884. by Mary 
 Helen Campbell, in tiio Office of the Minister of Agriculture. 
 
 Printkd by Gazette Printing Company, Montreal. 
 
In 
 LOVING MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 WHOSE 
 
 Service is Perfect 
 In the Church Above. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Yolio is an island in one of the small northern lakes of 
 Ontario, only to be found depicted on local charts and un- 
 mentioned, so far as I know, in an^ gazetteer. Yet it has a 
 certain quiet celebrity of its own which it is far from being 
 my desire to make iniblic. Life on the island is a return to 
 first principles, a child life in the best and wisest sense. 
 Children form a large element in its limited population and 
 in that of the adjoining islands. Those who are no longer 
 children in years, even to grandsires and granddames, are 
 still such in heart, and find thoir chief happiness in the 
 children's joys. 'I'he first day of the week is there the holy 
 of the Lord and honourable, but it is also a delight. At 
 the hour appointed for morning service, cottages and tents 
 send forth their occupants while, in all directions, from neigh- 
 bouring islets and from settlers' clearings upon the mainland, 
 boats large and small bring their quota of worshippers into 
 the quiet harbour. The chapel in which they meet is one of 
 nature's building, a pleasant hollow among mossy rocks and 
 boulders, overshaded by spreading maples and hemlocks. 
 Saucy squirrels have been known to gambol and chatter 
 among the branches over the preacher's head, stray bees and 
 beetles to cause a temporary flutter in the choir, and the 
 silly chuckle or mournful wail of the loon to excite the in- 
 dignation of the otherwise well-behaved dogs. But gener- 
 ally all nature is in harmony with the spirit of the day 
 and helpful to devotion. The children are there expectant. 
 They are waiting for the new story, a story they can remera- 
 
HE FACE. 
 
 ber and tell and give the meaning of and lay up in their 
 hearts for many days. Woe to the reverend divine, however 
 pious, learned, and elotjuent he may be, if he disappoint 
 them. With that congregation his reputation as a preacher 
 is gone forever. 
 
 From among the sermons which the children like and 
 which their elder brothers and sisters, their fathers and 
 mothers remember also, I have chosen twelve for publica- 
 tion. Some of them have been delivered more than once to 
 varying audiences in the chapel of Voho, and, unless by 
 special retiuest as sometimes happens, cannot be repeated 
 there. But the young people wish to have them in a book 
 of their own, and perhaps there are other boys and girls in 
 the world to whom the stories may give pleasure and do 
 good. My critical young friends who have heard them 
 spoken extempore will doubtless detect many variations 
 from the original in form of expression, but in their main 
 features they will find the narratives unchanged. It is not 
 my duty to provoke or to disarm general criticism of the 
 productions of others which it has been my office simply to 
 collect and arrange. They pleased and profited the children 
 and me and will do the same, I trust, to those who are like- 
 minded. 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 Montreal, Christmas 1884. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOK. 
 
 I. The Story OF Orion 3 
 
 A Greek Myth. 
 
 TI. The King who had Horse's Ears 17 
 
 An Irish Tradition. 
 
 III. The Beautiful House 37 
 
 An Egyptian Story. 
 
 IV. The Indian Girl and the Flowers 55 
 
 A Wyandot Fable. 
 
 V. Sir Aymbr's Service for God 77 
 
 A French Romance. 
 
 VI. The Fugitive of the South Seas loi 
 
 A Polynesian Epic. 
 
 VII. Balder 127 
 
 A Norse Edda. 
 
 VIII. The Treasure Seeker 149 
 
 A Babylonian Tale. 
 
 IX. The Good Lord of the Giant Mountains 179 
 
 A Sclavonic Allegory. 
 
 X. The Prince who gave up a Throne 203 
 
 An Indian Legend. 
 
 XI, The Peruvian Brothers 227 
 
 A Peruvian Narrative. 
 
 XJI. The Island Kingdom 249 
 
 A Jewish Parable. 
 
I. 
 
I. 
 
 But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteous- 
 ness arise with healing in his wings." — Malachi, iv. 2. 
 
 When looking up some bright winter evening into our clear 
 northern sky, you have seen three large stars in a perfect 
 line, and, hanging from them as it were, a long hazy cluster 
 Jike a comet's tail. These are the belt and sword of Orion, 
 the mighty hunter. You can trace his form as it is marked 
 hy other stars above and below the girdle, and farther down 
 in the southern heavens are the hunter's dogs, the greater 
 and the less, that follow him in the nightly chase. 
 
 Who was Orion ? Ages ago, the story tells us, when Eu- 
 rope was a wilderness and no human foot trod the soil of 
 this western world, he came, a giant and a slayer of wild 
 beasts, to the beautiful island of Chios, to the court of its 
 wise king, Oenopion. He came to one of the loveliest spots 
 in the old world, the fairest isle in the sparkling ^gean sea, 
 a little land of green pastures and flowing waters, of vine- 
 clad hills and snow-capped mountains, of waving cornfields 
 and evergreen glades. Such grapes as flourished there grew 
 nowhere else in the world ; citrons and almonds, pomegra- 
 nates and palms, with many another tree which was pleasant 
 to the eye and whose fruit was good for food, stocked its 
 orchards, or, untended by man, cheered the traveller by the 
 wayside; and from its mountain quarries came the pure 
 white Chian marble fit for the palace of the greatest king. 
 
4 THE STORY OF ORION. 
 
 In such a paradise th'.re was everything to make Orion 
 happy. Good king Oenopion loved the giant hunter and, as 
 the greatest token of his affection, gave him for wife his 
 daughter Merope. For a time Orion acted well, but the 
 time was very brief. Evil thoughts came into his mind, 
 proud feelings swelled his heart, and wicked deeds soon fol- 
 lowed them. He rebelled against the king and ill-treated his 
 daughter ; he destroyed the fertile plains which it was his 
 duty to protect, and made the peaceful, happy reign a time 
 of strife and wretchedness. Oenopion was grieved. He 
 would fain have forgiven the rebel, but without repentance 
 forgiveness could only lead to greater sins on the part of 
 Orion and greater injury to the king's land and people. So 
 with a sad heart the good monarch banished the giant from 
 court and city, from field and orchard, away to the dreary 
 seashore, there to wait until some passing ship should call 
 to take him to a far off country. 
 
 So all unarmed Orion sat down upon the yellow sands, not 
 daring to return to the palace or even to enter the groves and 
 meadows that skirted the beach, for he knew that the king's 
 trusty soldiers barred the way with their weapons of death. 
 And as he sat there he saw many ships come that way. He 
 knew them well, those ships of the Carian pirates that he 
 had often fought against in Oenopion's service with his giant 
 strength ; and the pirates knew him too, and cried : " It is 
 Orion." But he beckoned to them to land, and, as they came 
 near, told them that the king's enemies were now his friends 
 and they need fear nothing. Then they left their ships and 
 came, bringing with them leathern bags full of wine pressed 
 from stolen Chian grapes, and sat down beside their ancient 
 foeman. As he told his woes they gave him to drink, and, 
 oft as he wished them to fill the cup that fired his veins, they 
 
THE STORY OF ORION. 5 
 
 filled it, till sense and memory reeled and he lay stretched 
 upon the sands in a drunken sleep. Thereupon the pirates 
 rejoiced and sent up a mighty shout, " Our enemy is fallen, 
 is fallen." 
 
 But the knowing ones said : " We must not leave him 
 thus, for, when the fumes of the wine are gone, he may re- 
 pent him and turn to the king's service and be our foe once 
 more." So they put irons in a fire they made beside the 
 shore, and when they were red hot they thrust them into the 
 sleeping giant's eyes, and made haste back to their ships, 
 not daring to look behind them. Orion awoke with the 
 burning pain and staggered to his feet. He knew that an 
 enemy had done this, but he could not see him. He heard 
 the shouts, the laughter, the scorn of his boon companions 
 of an hour ago, and in his impotent rage dashed after them 
 into the sea, hurling great stones in the direction of their 
 voices. Then the pirates made sail and hastened away, and 
 Orion went back to the shore and lay there groaning in 
 bitter agony. 
 
 All the glorious summer afternoon he tossed to and fro in 
 helpless rage and pain, and when the sun went down and 
 the stars of heaven came forth he knew it by the evening 
 breezes that fanned his throbbing brow and the gentle dews 
 that fell like balm upon his sightless eyes. The morning 
 found him still awake but quieter, a weary, suffering, broken- 
 hearted man ; for the many-voiced birds began their songs, 
 the sweet scents ot fresh opening fioWers were wafted to- 
 wards him, and he felt the beams of the sun as he rose 
 above the dark cliffs of Asia. He knew the world was full 
 of beauty and of glory, but not for him, and the tears of the 
 strong man who had never wept before flowed from the ach- 
 ing eyeballs, as he thought of all that he had lost and would 
 
THE STORY OF ORION. 
 
 never see again. Then came the fierce noontide heat, and 
 the tired giant's head began to droop like the flowers in the 
 open meadow, while fitful dreams passed through his brain, 
 dreams of the old loveliness of by-gone happy days, of green 
 mother earth and restless tossing sunlit sea and the great 
 blue dome of heaven, and, ever and anon, he would awake 
 to a sense of his misery and cry, " O wretched man that 
 
 1 am," or he would pray to One he knew not, " My sight, 
 my lost sight ; oh, give me back my sight." 
 
 So it circled round to night again, a calm, peaceful night, 
 when all the noises of the day were hushed, and nothing 
 broke the solemn stillness but the gentle ripple of the wave& 
 upon the beach. Nothing else ? Yes, there was something, 
 Orion thought, for what his eyes had lost his ears had partly 
 gained. He seemed to hear a far distant sound as of a 
 heavy body falling every now and then in even time. And 
 as he hearkened it grew more and more plain to his ears, 
 till at last he said to himself, " It is the great hammer of 
 Vulcan's forge at Lemnos." Then he remembered looking 
 out at night over a long, clear stretch of sea away to the 
 northward where Lemnos lay, and seeing the great pillar of 
 smoke which arose from it up into the clear air, and the 
 flames that glared at the base of the pillar, or shot their red 
 light through its gloom, and when the night was dark were 
 the only objects visible. He could not see the flames, but 
 he could hear the hammer rise and fall, and the sound told 
 him that the fire was there, though to him all was darkness. 
 A joyful hope filled Orion's breast, for he thought that he 
 who could make the brightness of day reign in night's gloom 
 might also give back the light that had been stolen from his 
 eyes and the joy of which his life had been robbed. Then 
 he arose, saying, " I am going to the light," and cast him- 
 self intQ the sea. 
 
THE STORY OF ORION. 7 
 
 Away through the quiet waters he went, wading at first 
 till bottom failed him, and then swimming arm over arm in 
 eager haste and with all his giant mi^?ht. No voice was 
 present to cheer the lonely traveller on his long sea-way, no 
 sight of nearing land to fill his heart with hope ; nothing but 
 the distant clang of the hammer on the great anvil and the 
 knowledge that where the sound was, there the fire was to be 
 found. Again and again he stopped to listen lest he should 
 lose his course. At last his feet touch the sand. He is on 
 land again ; but a strange misgiving fills his heart, for still, 
 though nearer than it was, the sound that has led him is far 
 away. Yet he hears voices joining in song and the music of 
 well played instalments and a tinkling noise as of revellers 
 whose golden ornaments jingle in the dance. And they 
 call one to another, or it may be to him, to come to woody 
 Lesbos, the home of mirth and happiness, the isle of music 
 and of song. O poor Orion, it is not this you sought. A 
 sorry figure the blind swimmer would make among these 
 richly dressed, perfumed and laurel-crowned lovers of 
 pleasure. He is almost tempted to rush in upon their 
 revels and take revenge on them for the misery that, with- 
 out knowing it, they mock so cruelly. But there is a lull in 
 the music that lets the ring of the hammer sound out loud 
 and clear, and it falls upon his ear like a voice crying 
 " Come." His harsh, bitter laugh that had startled the 
 dancers for a moment is changed to the voice of prayer 
 as he hastens from the isle, and, spurning its shore from 
 his eager feet, rises again upon the buoyant waves. 
 . The Lesbian music is heard no more — nothing but the 
 splash of the giant's great arms cleaving the waters on his 
 onward course, and, keeping time with his strokes, the dis- 
 tant hamn.er's clang. But the swimmer's strokes are tell- 
 
8 THE STORY OF OH ION. 
 
 ing now. He need not stop to listen for Vulcan's heavy 
 blows upon the anvil. Nearer and nearer they seem to be, 
 till at length Orion cannot hear his own motions, can hear 
 nothing but the sound that rings in his ear, '* Come, come, 
 come !" So he comes to the shore of Lemnos, bruising him- 
 self as he lands on many a sharp piece of rock, and, 
 guided still by the sound that fills all the air, staggers 
 into the great forge that the Cyclops, giants like himself, 
 had built in olden days for the King of Fire, Dripping with 
 water from the sea, ragged and bruised and bleeding as 
 he is, Vulcan takes the giant by the hand and sets him 
 down beside the great furnace. Its generous warmth dries 
 the soaking garments and gives back vigour to the be- 
 numbed limbs, and, for a moment, its glorious brightness 
 tempts Orion to cry, " I see." But darkness reigns again ; 
 he has felt but a glow after all and has seen no man. 
 So he kneels him down and prays : " O Vulcan, lord of 
 fire, give me back my sight again and I am your ser- 
 vant, your willing, grateful slave forever." But Vulcan, sad 
 at heart and full of pity, answers : " That may not be, 
 for I am no maker of light. The light that is given me 
 from a higher source I use and spread abrc d amid the 
 darkness. With it I kindle the cheerful fire that gladdens 
 man's heart and forge the weapons wherewith he may 
 fight the powers of evil and the tools that aid him in 
 every work that is good. But to give light to darkened 
 eyes is only in the power of Him that gave the light 
 to me." 
 
 Thus Orion's cup of hope was dashed to the ground. 
 He forgot fhe genial warmth of the fire and Vulcan's 
 kindly greeting and the smiths that left their toil to throng 
 around him with generous words of welcome. " Was it 
 
THE STORY OF ORWiY. 9 
 
 for this," he cried, " that I left my home and braved the 
 perils of the sea? You have deceived me, Father Vul- 
 can, you and your blaze of light and the great hammer 
 whose blows guided me to my disappointment. For me 
 there is no hope. I will go back to be a terror and a 
 curse among men, and fall at last upon Oenopion's spears." 
 But Vulcan soothed the angry giant, saying : " Friend, I 
 liave done you no wrong in telling you what I cannot do ; 
 but I will not leave you thus. Are you willing to do 
 more, to brave more, to suffer more, that you may gain 
 your sight?" And Orion said, "There is nothing I will 
 not do that I may get it back again." Then Vulcan 
 cried, '' Send me Kedalion ;" and they brought a little lad, 
 soft-voiced and gentle, with fair hair that streamed down 
 upon his shoulders, and eyes blue as the summer's sky, 
 and a face like those of the angels in heaven. So Vulcan 
 took the boy and set him on Orion's knee, saying, " Be- 
 hold your guide." Then Orion put forth his hand and 
 touched him, but when he felt the long silken curls and 
 the delicate form of the gentle lad, he was offended and 
 asked if they meant to mock him by giving him such a 
 guide. " Only trust him," answered Vulcan kindly, " and 
 he will bring you to the Gates of Day, where He dwells, 
 who can give light to your blind eyes." And the boy 
 himself put his tender arms about the giant's neck and 
 kissed him, whispering in his ear, " Only trust me and I 
 will guide you safely, as I have often led others before." 
 Orion's rough heart was touched. Half doubting and 
 fearing, yet ashamed that it was so, and longing for the 
 light, he placed the little guido upon his mighty shoulder, 
 Saying, " I trust you ;" and away from the forge they went, 
 Orion stepping forth with giant strides and Kedalion guiding 
 with his clear blue eye. 
 
10 TIIK STOR Y OF ORION. 
 
 What a journey that was for these two travellers, away 
 again through the deep sea to the Trojan shore, through the 
 many kingdoms of Asia Minor and the land of Ararat, past 
 the great empire of Persia and the nations of India, and 
 beyond the very world's end, where the silk-weaving Seres 
 dwelt I What sandy deserts they traversed, what mountain 
 ranges they toiled over, what rivers they forded, what seas 
 they swam ! So eager at times was Orion, that, after a long 
 day's march when the night fell, he would not rest but still 
 press on, for night and day were all the same to his poor 
 eyes out of which the light had gone. And again, when the 
 long, weary road had tired even him, he would lie down in 
 field or jungle, by the roadside or on the shore, glad to 
 snatch a moment's sleep and dream some happy dream of 
 the bright day, while little Kedalion kept watch beside him. 
 There were many trials and sufferings for the giant and his 
 guide all along the way ; for wicked men, and men that called 
 themselves wise, and great giants like Orion himself, mocked 
 him and laughed at the gentle child upon his shoulder. 
 Even by force they tried to turn the blind man back and 
 take away his guide. Sweet voices, too, like those of the 
 sirens that lured the sailor to his death among the rocks in 
 the western sea, sounded often in Orion's ears, till he prayed 
 Kedalion to stop and listen to the heavenly music. But 
 Kedalion only bent over and placed his rosy lips close to the 
 ear that was nearest the sound, and whispered " Will you 
 have your sight again ?" Then Orion would press his 
 hands on either side of his head and heave a deep sigh and 
 run forward a long space till the music had died away. So 
 on they went, these two, to find the Gates of Day. 
 
 At last they came to a place where it was very dark, so 
 dark that the cheery little guide said : " I cannot see to go 
 
THK STOll y OF ORION. - 1 T 
 
 farther ; here we must rest, but light cometli in the morn- 
 ing." Orion laid the boy gently in his arms and, as he sat 
 upon the ground, pressed him lovingly to his breast, for the 
 darkness made his wounded eyeballs to ache again and a 
 great sorrow filled his heart, and the child was his only com- 
 forter. .\11 the long dark night Orion sat and waited, and, 
 for the first time since they left Vulcan's forge at Lemnos, 
 the little guide slept i)eacefully in his embrace. Then the 
 night mist lifted and the black clouds rolled away. Kedalion 
 awoke with a joyful cry : " Orion, Orion, I see the Gates of 
 Day, the golden gates in the great wall of rubies and sap- 
 phires !" Then Orion fell upon his knees and placed his 
 hand upon the head of the boy, saying : " Kedalion, I trust 
 you." And so he wailed. Nor did he wait long, for soon 
 the golden gates flew open and the bright sun came forth in 
 his chariot of glory. His warm beams fell upon the giant's 
 sightless eyeballs till they ached no more, and a voice came 
 down from heaven, just such a gentle voice as that which 
 had comforted him all the way, so that he almost thought it 
 was Kedalion who spoke : " What wilt thou, Orion ?" The 
 giant trembled like a little child, trembled with fear and 
 with hope ; but the litde guide, upon whom his hand was 
 resting, was the giant now. He never shook, but bravely 
 bore up his friend that he might not fall. Then, while the 
 sobs came thick and fast to choke his voice and his tears 
 flowed down like summer rain, the blind man cried : ** Lord, 
 that I may receive my sight." And the beams of the sun 
 shot forth towards him like golden hands that came to bless, 
 making a rainbow over the weeping eyes. " Receive thy 
 sight," said the gentle voice, and with the word Orion lifted 
 up his eyes and saw ; then fell upon his face and worshipped. 
 No tongue of man can tell what Orion saw then ; it is 
 
I a TiiK sTon r of orios. 
 
 hidden deep down in the heart. Old things were passed 
 away ; all things had become new. It was as if he had 
 become a babe again and been born into a new and lovelier 
 world. Karth and sea and sky and all that was in them 
 seemed touched with the glory that shone from the Gates of 
 Day, so that the humblest little flower beneath his feet was 
 fairer to his sight than the brightest jewel of Oenopion's 
 crown or even the very stars of heaven themselves had been 
 in the olden days. He looked for Kedalion that he might 
 share his joy, but he was nowhere to be seen, for his work 
 was done ; but instead of the fair haired child, a bird, and a 
 true bird of Paradise this was, perched upon the shoulder he 
 had left and there warbled such notes of gladness as put a 
 new song into Orion's mouth — a full heart's song of praise. 
 And as he sang, his face turned upwards to the light that 
 healed him. He saw the Monarch of Day moving ever 
 onwards in his course of blessing, and, lifting up his arms, 
 he cried : " Lord, I have none but Thee ; I will follow Thee 
 whithersoever Thou goest ; give me some place behind Thy 
 chariot wheels." But a voice came from the sky : " Freely 
 thou hast received ; freely give. Go thou and lead the blind 
 and the lost back to the great Physician and to their 
 Father's house." 
 
 So Orion went back again with a joyous heart, seeking for 
 the blind and the lame and the lost. And when he found 
 them he carried them in the great strong arms of his gian', 
 love over the sea and the river, the desert and the moim-tain, 
 speaking all the way the brave words of cheer that little 
 Kedalion had taught him when he was himself a poor blind 
 man. Many a cold, sick, weary wanderer he warmed and 
 fed and kindly tended at good Vulcan's Lemnian forge, and 
 many a one that had need of healing he bore far off to the 
 
77/ a; story of oitios. 13 
 
 dates of Day and with them waited patiently till the beams 
 of the Sun of Righteousness made them whole. Then, when 
 his work was done, he was carried away up into the blue 
 heavens he loved so well, to shine among the brightest stars 
 in the nightly firmament and guide the helpless sailor across 
 the trackless sea. 
 
 Perhaps you have found out already who the real Orion 
 is, the great, strong man, whom God made with a giant will, 
 mightier than that of the holy angels in heaven. In Eden's 
 beautiful garden he lived, and talked there with the King of 
 kings, who loved him and gave everything into his hand. But 
 the giant lost faith in his God, and disobeyed Him, and was 
 driven out of Paradise. Then came all the sins and blinded 
 his mind and ruined his life, till it seemed Hcarce worth living, 
 as some poor blind men tell us to-day. But God put a 
 longing in man's heart to see again, to see Him and the 
 beautiful world that is only beautiful in Him. And while he 
 is longing to see God there comes to his ears the sound of 
 the Sabbath bell, that tells of those who are happy, because 
 they are ever singing God's praises and doing His work. He 
 tears himself away, first from his hopeless gloom, and then 
 from the worldly pleasures that would tempt him ; and, in the 
 company of God's people, finds comfort and hope. But they 
 cannot give him the light he needs : only a guide to bring 
 him to the light. The child Kedalion is a little text to 
 believe with all the heart, such as " They that seek me early 
 shall find me " ; " He that cometh unto me I will in no wise 
 cast out ; " " God so loved the world that He gave His only- 
 begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not 
 perish but have everlasting life;" " This is a faithful saying, 
 and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came 
 into the world to save sinners." The giant carries the text- 
 
14 THE STORY OF ORION. 
 
 guide, not on his shoulder, like Orion, but in his heart, and 
 with it he goes far away from the world, whether by night or 
 by day, till he feels that God is very near. Then he kneels 
 down to pray, and as he prays, confessing his sins and asking 
 for his sight, the Holy Spirit comes and opens his mind to 
 see the pardoning God, and fills his heart with the joy and 
 gladness of a child whom his father loves. 
 
 Now the old things are passed away and all things are 
 become new. The world is full of light and happiness 
 because it is full of God. The Christian, who once was blind 
 but v/ho now sees, will follow the Sun of Righteousness, that 
 came to him with healing under His wings, wherever he leads. 
 But to do this he must do the work of God. So back into the 
 world he goes to guide the weary wanderers in sinful paths 
 to the light of the Father's countenance, to carry them in his 
 heart in prayer before the throne of grace, and to tell the 
 blind ones who cannot see God, how he, once blind like them, 
 can behold Him more clearly than aught else in earth or 
 heaven. And then, when his work is done, God takes him 
 home, with them that are wise, to shine as the brightness of the 
 firmament, and with them that turn many to righteousness, as 
 the stars forever and ever. 
 
J I. 
 
II. 
 
 $lxe pn0 xo\to Una gtorse^B %nxs. 
 
 « If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our 
 sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness."— I John, j. 9. 
 
 The same story often appears in different parts of the 
 world, and this teaches us that all nations of men, although 
 now far apart, once dwelt so near to each other that they 
 were able to carry away the same legends and traditions. 
 Herodotus, the father of history, who lived more than four 
 hundred years before the birth of Jesus Christ, and Strabo, 
 a geographer who wrote about the time that our Saviour was 
 born, both tell of an army that was saved from destruction by 
 mice which came through the night and gnawed their enemies 
 bowstrings, so that, when the battle began, the archers were 
 not able to shoot. That same story is told to-day by the 
 Muskogees of the Indian Territory and the Utes of Colorado 
 in the United States, two wild Indian tribes. So the king 
 who had horse's or ass's ears appears in the old world legends 
 as Midas of Phrygia, in Asia Minor, and as Lavra of Ireland. 
 It is the story of Lavra I am going to tell. 
 
 There were many kings in Ireland in the old days, and each 
 of these had his little court and army, but there was generally 
 one greater than the others who was called king of all Ireland. 
 At the time I speak, of, Lavra was king of all Ireland, 
 and kept his royal court in the famous palace of Tara. He 
 had not come to the throne without trouble, for he had 
 enemies. But the kingdom was his by right, many friends 
 
1 8 THE KING WHO HAD HORSE'S EARS. 
 
 gathered about him, and, as he had a strong army and was 
 himself a brave bold soldier, he soon put down his foes and 
 began his glorious reign. On the day that he was crowned 
 he sent messengers all over the country to the courts of the 
 kings and the castles of all the nobles, inviting the harpers 
 who lived in them to come to the palace of Tara, where they 
 should play before the king. And the messengers promised 
 in Lavra's name that the harper who played the best should 
 receive as his prize a harp and a wreath of pure gold. So four- 
 teen days after the king was crowned the harpers came flocking 
 to Tara, along all the royal roads, from north and south and 
 west, followed by great crowds of noblemen on horseback and 
 people on foot, who wished to hear them sing and play. 
 
 At the end of the great hall sat the king of all Ireland 
 upon his throne, and on either side of him, on lower seats, 
 were the other kings, while brave soldiers and great officers 
 of state stood on guard around them. The harpers marched 
 into the hall in a long procession, dressed in flowing robes, 
 and behind every one of them was a boy in a green tunic 
 who carried his master's harp. Then came the noblemen, 
 all richly clad, and took their places on seats along the walls, 
 while the people staid outside and listened to the sounds of 
 music and song that floated through the open doors and 
 windows. So many were the harpers that three days passed 
 before all could get a hearing, although the king and his 
 court met three times a day in the great hall to try their 
 skill. On the morning of the fourth day all came together 
 again, and many a harper thought that he was going to win 
 the precious prize. But the king's mind was troubled and 
 confused, for neither he nor those who sat with him could 
 tell who was the best harper of them all. 
 
 While Lavra was wondering in his heart what he should 
 
THE KING WHO HAD HORSE'S EARS. I9 
 
 do, there arose a noise and a shout at the lower end of the 
 hall, and the guards called out so that the king could hear 
 them, " Make way, make way for the harpers !" Then up 
 the aisle came two tall figures of noble bearing, that might 
 have been princesses of royal blood, and stood before the 
 king. They were both beautiful, but the light-haired, meek- 
 eyed one in the long white robe with the golden girdle had 
 the beauty of the day, and the other in crimson raiment, 
 whose dark locks were crowned with richly scented blossoms, 
 wore the beauty of the night. No one asked them whence 
 they camo, or why they came so late, but all gazed in wonder 
 upon the strange new-comers, and waited for their voices and 
 the sound of their harps. The king arose from his throne to 
 greet them and give a kindly welcome, and then the one in 
 the white robe began to play. 
 
 As she struck the first few chords, the old, old harpers 
 who had learned to play before the king's father was a baby 
 in his cradle, bent forward their hoary heads to listen, for 
 such a skilful easy touch they had never seen, such full rich, 
 melting sounds they had never heard before. And when 
 she lifted up her lovely head and sang, without casting a 
 single glance at the harp strings that her fingers knew so 
 well, the nobles and musicians held their very breath for fear 
 that even a passing sigh should mar the heavenly music. 
 Her song was of peace and purity, of goodness and truth and 
 love; and now the tones were strong and brave and clear 
 like the silver trumpet that calls to a holy war, and now 
 they were soft and gentle and low like the pleadings of a lady 
 mother with her only child. Had you been there then you 
 would have seen a strange sight. The musician's dark com- 
 panion hid her face that was pale with envy and lined with 
 angry thoughts behind the tapestry hangings of the hall ; the 
 
20 THE KING WHO HAD HORSE'S EARS. 
 
 nobles and soldiers withdrew their gloves of mail from their 
 sword hills and clasped their hands before their breasts as if 
 in prayer ; and as the king listened eagerly, his head bent 
 forward and his cheek resting in his open palm, the tears, all 
 unnoticed by him or by any other, came trickling d own upon 
 his royal beard. All the morning the sweet song lasted 
 though it seemed but a single hour, and when at last it 
 ended in a glorious burst of praise to the blessed God who 
 only is the true and the beautiful and the good, then all the 
 harpers, old and young, lifted up their voices as one man 
 and said : *' Not unto us, not unto us, but unto her, O king, 
 let the prize be given." 
 
 Now she of the crimson robe came out from behind the 
 curtains, and with her sweetest smile and most appealing 
 glance knelt before Lavra saying, ** Surely the good king 
 will hear me also." The king's heart was won by her looks 
 and words, for her fair companion had never once called 
 him good ; and he was ashamed of the tear drops that he saw 
 upon his beard ; and, now that the music had ceased, he 
 began to feel hungry like common men, so he said, " We 
 will go and dine, and afterwards this lady shall have her 
 turn to try for the prize." Then they all marched away to 
 the great dining hall, and the dark musician ate and drank 
 beside the king, while the harper of the morning went cut 
 among the common people and played and sang for them 
 and for many of the other harpers who came to listen such 
 sweet simple music and words as the people love. 
 
 When the feast was nearly ended and Lavra and his 
 nobles had almost forgotten what they had heard in the 
 morning, the rival musician arose and began to play. She 
 too knew well how to tune her harp and voice as she sang 
 of pleasure and rest, telling of cloudless skies and summer 
 
IHE KINO WHO HAD HORSE'S EARS. tl 
 
 days, of beautiful women and handsome men, of soothing 
 sounds and sweet perfumes, of glittering jewels and great 
 kings' palaces. Lavra and his courtiers yielded to the 
 enchantment of the hour, and, half waking, half sleeping, 
 dreamed they dwelt in lovely fairyland. Then came from 
 the harp a sound of beating drums and ringing clarions, of 
 marching men and banners flapping in the breeze, till all 
 aroused themselves and grasped their swords. And now 
 she sang of the fight begun, of gallant deeds of arms, of 
 glorious victory, while the wondrous harp kept time with 
 wild sounds that told the soldier of the rushing charge of 
 horse and the steady tramp of footmen, the battle shout, the 
 clashing of mingled weapons, and the very groans of dying 
 warriors. But with all this there was no word of truth or 
 goodness or love. Only when she ended her song with the 
 homeward march of the victorious army, she praised King 
 Lavra as man had never been praised before, calling him the 
 greatest and wisest, the bravest and best of men, the 
 mightiest monarch in all the world. Then the lesser kings 
 and all the nobles drew their swords and waved them in the 
 air crying " Long live Lavra, our king." 
 
 Back went the company to the great hall of Tara once 
 more, and Lavra took the golden wreath and put it upon the 
 dark singer's brow and placed the golden harp in her hand, 
 and proclaimed her with his royal voice the chief of all the 
 harpers of Ireland. Then the nobles shouted again, but the 
 harpers looked black and had not a word to say, and the 
 murmuring of the people without was like the hollow voice 
 of the wind over the troubled sea. Up the aisle came the 
 white-robed harper, looking so fresh and fair, so gentle and 
 Itindly, and yet withal so strong and brave, that the king's 
 heart misgave him as he looked at her, and her rival turned 
 
aa THE KINO WHO HAD HORSE'S EARS. 
 
 away from her Steady gaze. And she said, "O king, you 
 have done yourself and your kingdom more harm than you 
 have done me. When the great bell of Tara tolls the hour 
 of midnight you will know who it was deserved the prize." 
 Then she called to her dark companion, who sat beside the 
 king, " Come, for your work is done ;" and the proud, 
 triumphant singer was forced to leave her seat and follow 
 her down the aisle and out of the great gateway of the 
 palace, till the two disappeared in the throng, and none 
 could tell where they had gone, just as none knew whence 
 they came. 
 
 The princes and nobles, the harpers and the people, went 
 
 away to their homes, talking all the way ot the strange 
 
 things they had seen and the wondrous music they had 
 
 heard. Only the king's own harper Craftine remained, 
 
 together with the servants and guards of the palace. Lavra 
 
 was tired after his four days' work of listening to many 
 
 harps, and above all with the excitement of that last day,. 
 
 so he went early to rest and ordered faithful soldiers to 
 
 guard the door of his bedchamber lest the fair singer he had 
 
 rejected should try to do him harm through the n ight. At 
 
 midnight he awoke and heard the single peal of the bell 
 
 struck by the watchman in the tower to let weary watchers 
 
 know that half the night was gone. Before its sound had 
 
 died away the room was filled with light, and Lavra, sittin/j 
 
 up, tried to call to his guard, but could not, for his lips were 
 
 sealed. In the midst of the light the fair harper seemed to 
 
 float before his eyes. As he gazed in terror upon the vision 
 
 she said : '« King Lavra, you have shown this day that your 
 
 soul is that of a brute and not that of a man. As your soul 
 
 is, so your ears shall be." And then she vanished and the 
 
 light died away. 
 
TIIR KINO WHO HAD HOUSE'S EAHS. 9$ 
 
 Lavra regained his voice and was about to call his guards, 
 but happily for him, before he did so he lifted his hand to 
 his head, and, oh, horror ! he felt the long, hairy ears of a 
 horse where his own shapely ones had been. He was over- 
 whelmed with rage and shame, but what could he do 1 He 
 arose and fastened his door from within, that none might 
 enter. Then, tearing down the hangings of his bed, he 
 wound a long piece of tapestry round and round his head 
 and these hideous ears till nothing could be seen of his new 
 deformity. Soon as morning dawned, the king called his 
 servants and sent them 'o find the most skilful worker in cloth 
 in all his kingdom. The man was roused from his slumbers 
 and brought to the king's bedchamber with all his stuff and 
 working tools. Lavra ordered him then and there to make 
 for him of the most costly material a tall ornamental cap 
 such as those worn by great kings in far off eastern lands, 
 which he, as the greatest of all kings, might wear, and over 
 which he might place his kingly crown. So the terrified 
 tradesman, little dreaming what the cap was for, set to work 
 with all his might, and before it was time for Lavra to meet 
 his nobles and to judge the people in the great hall of Tara,. 
 the cap was finished, and the poor man was sent away with 
 
 a rich reward. 
 
 The nobles and the people who had come to get jusdce 
 were astonished to see their king appear in their presence 
 with this strange tall headdress, for Lavra used to sit 
 among them with no other covering for his head than his 
 long yellow hair encircled with the golden crown. So Lavra, 
 like many other people, old and young, had to tell a lie to 
 hide his sin. He said that they had all acknowledged him 
 to be the greatest king in the world, and it was not meet that 
 he should wear nothing more upon his head than subject 
 
24 The kino who had house's eaus. 
 
 princes were allowed to carry. Therefore, he said, he wore 
 this cap to mark his greatness and the honour they had put 
 upon him. But all the people wondered greatly when they 
 saw that the king never went without this oip or one like it 
 in court or review, at home or abroad, by night or by day. 
 Then at length the king's cap began to be the fashion. The 
 princes wore caps not quite so tall, and the nobles wore 
 them a little shorter than the princes, and in the end even 
 the people hid their shock heads of hair under skull-caps of 
 different forms and colours. So nobody in Ireland paid any 
 more attention to the king's head-dress. 
 
 But nature will out in spite of all we can do, and so it was 
 with the king. His yellow hair grew long and thick till it 
 became a great burden for one who loved field sports and out- 
 door life. Lavra longed for the old days when his barber 
 came and polled him, and now he had gone full two years 
 without a hair of his head being cut. The heat caused by 
 the hair and the cap made his royal head ache till he could 
 bear it no longer. He ordered the barber to be called, but 
 gave secret commands to the captain of his guard that the 
 moment the man left the king's chamber he was to be 
 gagged and hurried off to execution. The unhappy barber 
 came. He saw the horse's ears upon the king's bare head 
 and wondered if it was to be his task to cut them off When 
 told to poll the royal head, he thought of the grand scandal 
 he would be able to tell to his friends, and felt so proud of 
 his knowledge of the secret that he longed to be away and 
 make it known. But when his work was done and he 
 stepped lightly out of the king's chamber, he was seized by 
 the guard and, as he attempted to speak, a wooden bridle 
 was thrust into his mouth and made fast behind his ears. 
 Thus he was led away to the courtyard, where the execu- 
 
THE KINO WHO HAD HOUSE'S ears. t5 
 
 tioner's sword finished the deadly work, and the body of the 
 poor headless barber was buried out of sight. His wife and 
 children and friends came to Tara asking where he was, but 
 the king told another lie and said he did not know. So sad 
 grief and mourning came to one family of the land because 
 of Lavra's sin. 
 
 It was not long before the king's head had to be polled 
 again. So another barber was brought into the palace to do 
 the work, but nobody ever saw him come out of the gates 
 or heard of him more. And soon after, another barber dis- 
 appeared, and then another, till at last there were none left 
 in the kingdom. Then Lavra ordered that clever young 
 men should be looked out to take the place of the barbers- 
 They came on in their turn to cut the king's hair, and after 
 that were never seen again. There was weeping and mourn- 
 ing for lost friends all over the land and great fear fell upon 
 all the people. Some of the boldest who had lost sons and 
 brothers and husbands went to the court and asked Lavra 
 to grant them justice and punish the murderers of their 
 friends, but the king only laughed savagely and said that if 
 they would tell him who the guilty persons were, he would 
 have them punished. But Lavra, with the tall cap over his 
 pale face and sunken eyes, looked so stern and harsh and 
 cruel and had such a guard of soldiers as fierce as himself 
 all around him, that the poor people did not dare to tell him 
 what they thought. For in their hearts they felt that the 
 king knew all about the death of their friends. 
 
 One day the officers came to the hut of a poor widow who 
 had an only son, and said to her, " Your son must come and 
 be the king's barber." The poor widow burst into tears at 
 once and cried, " Oh, if King Lavra knew that he is my 
 only son and all my support and comfort in the world, 
 
•6 THE KING WHO II AD HORSE'S EARS. 
 
 surely he would not take him away." But the officers said, 
 " Hush, woman I and be proud that the king honors your 
 son so much as to let him touch his royal head." Then the 
 widow answered, " Let the king honour somebody else and 
 let me keep my boy, for nobody that goes into the palace 
 to cut the king's hair ever comes out again." The officers 
 paid no attention to her cries but. dragged her son away from 
 her embrace and led him off to Tara, while the poor old 
 mother ran after them wee|)ing and crying out and tearing 
 her gray hair. So she pushed her way through the sentries 
 at the gate; none of the servants of the palace dared to stop 
 her, for they thought that she was mad, and the Irish in 
 those days would not dream of hurting a mad person ; and 
 at last she ran up the stairway and kept up her loud wee])- 
 ing and wailing in the royal hall. The king came out in his 
 great cap to learn the cause of the uproar, looking very 
 gloomy and stern, but the widow fell down at his feet and 
 prayed with all her mother's love that he would spare her 
 only son. Lavra's heart was touched, for there was some 
 little good left in him, and he ordered the guards and ser- 
 vants to go away and leave him alone with the young man 
 and his mother. Then he said; " Do you know why none 
 of those who came to poll me ever went out alive I It is 
 because dead men tell no tales. Now, if your son is to live 
 he must take a solemn vow never to breathe to you, his 
 niother, nor to any man, woman or child, a single word or 
 hint of what he shall see in my bed-chamber. If he does, 
 then you and he and all he tells the secret to must be put to 
 death. Are you willing that he should take the vow ?" And 
 the mother cried, thankfully, " O yes, my kind king, my 
 good king, anything to save his life." So' the widow went 
 home comforted, and the young man trembled as Lavra 
 
THE Kiyn WHO had iroHSE's ears. Mf 
 
 made him take the solemn vow and then led him into his 
 bedchamber. 
 
 Late in the afternoon the boy came home, dressed m fine 
 clothes the king had given him, and with a little purse full of 
 gold as his wages, which he gave to his mother. But no- 
 gold could have made her heart so glad as the sight of her 
 son safe and sound. Yet she noticed that he looked very- 
 sad and unlike his own lively, joyous self. He did not sing 
 nor even talk as he used to do, but wduld sit silent and idle 
 half the day in the chimney corner, with his head in his hand 
 and a troubled look in his eyes. And at night he would 
 toss upon his bed and moan and sometimes cry out in a 
 fright, "Did I tell the secret?" ; or he would groan aloud, 
 "Oh the vow, the terrible vow !" At last the king's gold 
 was all gone for food, and, as her sort did not work, the poor 
 widow saw that they must soon starve unless she could 
 rouse him and make him go out to his daily toil. So she 
 called in a priest, a very wise man, and told him how her 
 son was pining away because of a great secret that lay 
 heavily on his breast, a secret he had bound himself by 
 a terrible vow to tell to no man, woman or child, even 
 the nearest and the dearest. The wise man thought a 
 while, and then he asked, " Did he promise not to tell 
 the secret to the winds and the waves, to the cattle and 
 the uees?" And the mother answered, " No, not to these, 
 but only to no man or woman or child." Then the priest 
 turned to the young man and said : •' Rise and go to the 
 wood of Tara. There you will find an old oak tree with a 
 hollow trunk. Put your lips to the hole m the trunk and 
 tell your secret where no man or woman or child can hear, 
 and then come back and do your work as before." When 
 he had given this good advice the wise man departed. 
 
28 THE KING WHO HAD HORSE'S EARS. 
 
 The young man arose and ran all the way to the wood, full 
 of impatience to tell the secret that was eating his life away. 
 He found the tree, and, taking a hurried look all around to see 
 that no person was near, he put his lips to the hole and cast 
 his arms about the rough old trunk, as if it were the body of a 
 dear friend that he embraced. Then over and over again he 
 whispered and whispered, louder and louder, till his heart felt 
 relief, " King Lavra has horse's ears. King Lavra has horse's 
 ears." Now the load was off his breast. He was his old self 
 again. He ran, he bounded, he leapt, the same glad, joyous 
 youth he was before the dreadful secret had taken away his 
 strength and vigour. No evil dreams disturbed his rest that 
 night, and, in the morning he went away to his work again, 
 singing like the lark that flies to meet the rising sun. So the 
 mother's heart was glad, and she blessed the good priest who 
 had given her wise counsel. 
 
 You remember Craftine, the king's harper. Every day he 
 played and sang to Lavra, and his music was good. But one 
 morning Lavra had a sullen fit, and when Craftine played to 
 him he said : " Take away that wretched harp. Its sounds 
 are not fit to be heard in these halls where the lady harpers 
 played so sweetly." Craftine thought within himself that their 
 music had not done the king much good, but he obeyed. But 
 when he left Lavra's presence he was so angry because his 
 harp was despised that he dashed it to the ground and broke 
 it in many pieces. Afterwards he was sorry for what he had 
 done, and, knowing that, when the king's sullen fit was over, he 
 would send for him again, he only thought of how to mend the 
 broken instrument. The harp-strings lay on the ground still 
 perfect, but the wood of joy, as it was called, was so shattered 
 that it could not be pieced together again, and, even if it could, 
 the tone of the harp was gone for ever. Craftine must find a 
 
THE KING WIW HAD HORSE'S EARS. 2^ 
 
 new wood of joy, all of one piece, without crack or flaw, of 
 strange shape, and hard and dry, so that it should not shrink 
 or rot. Away to the wood of Tara he hied him, and, search- 
 ing long and diligently, came at last to the old hollow oak in 
 whose hoary trunk the young barber's secret had been buried. 
 Eound about the very hole into which the widow's son had 
 whispered his burden, Craftine saw the half circle of wood 
 he needed. He called the carpenter to cut it from the dry 
 and seasoned tree, and gave it into the hands of the wood 
 carver, that he might polish it well and grave it with quamt 
 device and fit it for the harp strings. All night he sat watch- 
 ing the carver at his work, and the sun had risen in the sky 
 before the strings were fastened to the pegs ; and then, just 
 as he began to tune his new-made harp, a royal messenger 
 came, saying . '' The king is waiting for his harper." 
 
 Craftine rose, put on his green mantle and carried the harp 
 himself into the king's presence. Lavra was on his royal 
 seat, surrounded by his nobles, and Craftine saw by his face 
 that' he was in a gracious mood. *' Come hither, Craftine," 
 said the king, smiling, " for we cannot do without your music, 
 and in truth there is none like it, after all." So Craftine 
 bowed his head in reverence and thankfulness to the king and 
 then began to strike the cords. But as he struck, he trembled 
 with awe and fear, and the nobles turned their heads aside, 
 and Lavra moved uneasily upon his throne and hid his face 
 in his hands. For the harp was like a sweetly mocking human 
 voice, and, now like a chime of bells, now like a grand 
 cathedral chant, it kept repeating these few truthful words : 
 " King Lavra has horse's ears. King Lavra has horse's ears, 
 King Lavra has horse's ears." Craftine used all hisp owers. 
 He tried to sing that he might drown the voice of the harp, 
 but whether he would or no, he could only echo its painful 
 
30 THE KING WHO HAD HORSE'S EARS. 
 
 words : " Lavra has horse's ears." All the time the king's 
 face was working. Rage and indifference and smile of con- 
 tempt came and went upon it, with terror and grief and the 
 sad look of rest that comes when the worst of sorrow is known 
 A brave soldier who loved the king, spite of all his faults 
 drew his sword and said : "Shall I sunder the cords, shall I 
 slay the man that unite to speak foul wrong of my king?" 
 Then the king rose quickly, motioned with his hand to put 
 back the sword, and with a great voice, that could be heard 
 far beyond the hall, he thundered " No !" 
 
 While the nobles and officers wondered what was about to 
 happen, Lavra gave comr^ind to throw open the hall doors 
 and let the people in who were waiting for him to sit on his 
 throne of justice. When the hall was full, he turned to 
 Craftine and said, " Strike your harp again" ; andCraftine, 
 trembling, struck his harp, hoping for some better strain. But 
 the same mocking voice came from its cords, " King Lavra 
 has horse's ears !" " Why do yon always play the same 
 thmg?" asked the king; and the harper answered: " Have 
 mercy upon me, Sire; for it is the harp that repeats it against 
 my will, and that with all my power I cannot make say 
 anything else." Then Lavra said : " Let all the people listen, 
 for this harp's voice is the voice of God against whom I have 
 sinned that comes to condemn me." He took off his royal 
 crown and laid it on the floor at his feet, saying " I am not 
 fit to wear a crown, for I have been the slayer of my people 
 and not their friend." Next he lifted the tall cap from his 
 head and cried, " See what a king you have ; mock him and 
 curse him, for he deserves it and more beside." But the 
 nobles and all the people lifted up their hands, and with one 
 voice they shouted, till the hall rang again with their shouts. 
 Long live King Lavra, long live the king !" For when 
 
THE KING WHO HAD HORSE'S EARS. 31 
 
 Lavra raised the cap, meaning that they should see the 
 hideous ears, they saw nothing but the long yellow hair of 
 olden days that streamed down upon his shoulders. And as 
 it seemed to them that they had got back again the kindly, 
 simple-hearted monarch they had loved, they shouted once 
 more " Long live King Lavra, long live our king !" 
 
 Lavra wondered with great astonishment till his eye rested 
 upon a shield of polished steel which hung near by, and there, 
 reflected from its bright surface, he saw his kingly form just 
 as it had been in the olden days ; for the cause of all his 
 auguish and deceit and cruelty, the horrid ears were gone. 
 So the king knelt down before all the people, and when they 
 saw him kneeling, they knelt too, and he prayed a prayer that 
 was full of heart-broken thankfulness to the great wonder- 
 working God in heaven. And when it was ended, though 
 the people knew not what it was all about, they were sure 
 from the look of the king's face that it was true and good, and 
 all together said " Amen." Then up through the press came 
 the well-known figure of the white-robed harper, and bending 
 low beside Lavra she picked up the golden crown and placed 
 it on his royal head, and as she led him back to his throne, 
 breathed not a word of reproach or blame, but only said, 
 <' God save the king !" which filled the hall with joyous shouts 
 once more. After that she called Craftine and bade him tune 
 his harp in unison with her own ; and they two played before 
 the throne. It was strange to listen to Craftine's playing, for 
 his truthful wood of joy had lost its mocking tone and dismal 
 strain, and seemed to catch every note that fell from the white 
 harper's fingers with so full and sweet a sound that it was 
 hard to tell which was the diviner music. All the time the 
 king sat thinking, thinking bitterly of the sad, sad past, till the 
 harpers sang of the angels' joy in heaven over the sinner who 
 
3* THE KING WHO HAD HORSE'S EARS. 
 
 repents of his wicked ways and conies back to truth and right 
 again. Then Lavra arose and blessed his people in the name 
 of the great forgiving God. Raising his hand to heaven he 
 promised to make amends for all the evil he had done, and 
 from that time forth to reign in truth and righteousness, the 
 father and friend of his subjects, and the constant lover of all 
 that is right and good. 
 
 Lavra kept his word. There was great joy and gladness 
 
 in Tara, for the king, no longer shut up in his palace, was 
 
 ever among the people, seeking out the families that had 
 
 suffered by his cruel orders that he might do them all the 
 
 good in his power, and caring for all the sick and poor 
 
 and sad and erring, as if they were his own children. The 
 
 white-robed harper had departed, unnoticed as she came ; 
 
 but whenever an evil spirit troubled Lavra, he sent for Craf- 
 
 tine to play before him. And Craftine's harp had so learned 
 
 her song of truth and beauty and goodne-s that it filled the 
 
 heart of the king, and drove the evil spirit far away. After 
 
 a few years the wicked spirit came no more, but Craftine still 
 
 kept on harping, and Lavra became wiser and better every day. 
 
 Many people came to him to Icarn what had made his life so 
 
 happy and good, and chief of all the advice he gave them, 
 
 even when his yellow locks were white with age, was this : 
 
 " Confess your fault and all will be well." 
 
 Like the Irish king, when we are setting out on life's jour- 
 ney, we gather around us our harpers. They are the voices 
 we listen to, the books we read, the examples that are 
 set before us. Among them come temptations to evil , and 
 lessons of truth and goodness. The white-robed harper 
 is the Book of books, the Word of God, that sings divine 
 
THE KING WHO HAD HORSE'S EARS. 33 
 
 songs in our tars such as the voice of man never ut- 
 tered, to lead us into the paths of peace and holiness. 
 When we will not hear that song, but prefer the music of 
 the world, then sin comes into our hearts and takes up its 
 lodging there. Pride and falsehood and suspicion and 
 malice and murderous thoughts follow each other, till our 
 conscience condemns us and our life becomes a sad, 
 dreary, wretched scene, painful to ourselves and hurtful to 
 others. But God does not leave us. He sends His good 
 angel to whisper better things, and when the time comes, 
 conscience, like the wood of joy, tells us of all our faults and 
 the ugliness of our moral nature. Then, if we are wise, 
 like King Lavra, we will confess our sins to God and ask 
 Him, who knows everything, to look into our hearts and 
 see all the evil that is there, and give us new hearts to love 
 and serve Him. If we believe that God so loved us, wicked 
 as we are, that He sent His Son to die for us, our evil con- 
 science, like the horse's ears, will vanish away, and by His 
 grace we will be made strong to do that which is good, 
 to repair past wrong, and to be helpful to those among 
 whom God has placed us in the world. For when we con- 
 fess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our 
 sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 
 
III. 
 
III. 
 
 "Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteous- 
 ness ; that when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting 
 habitations."— Luke xvi. 9. 
 
 Who has not heard of Egypt, that old, old land, and of 
 its famous city Alexandria? It was in that city that the 
 things happened which I am about to tell. Alexandria was 
 looked upon as a new city by the native Egyptians, for 
 while Memphis and Thebes were in the height of their pride 
 and glory when Moses was bom and before a word of the 
 Bible had been written, it was only built by Alexander 
 the Great little more than three hundred years before the 
 Saviour of man came as a babe to the cradle of Bethlehem. 
 Many hundreds of years ago, when Alexandria was a 
 Christian city, and before the Arabians with sword and fire 
 entered it to kill and destroy and set up the false religion of 
 their prophet Mahomet, there lived in that city a patriarch 
 named John. This patriarch was a kind of archbishop, the 
 chief of all the clergy in Egypt. But although he had been 
 raised so high, he was not a proud or a vain man. He was- 
 like the Apostle John, his namesake, gentle, loving and kind, 
 fond of little children, good to the poor, and caring very 
 little what became of himself so long as he did God's work. 
 One of his friends was the Bishop Troilus, who used to preach 
 in Alexandria and teach the young men and visit the people 
 in their homes. John loved Troilus because he was a good 
 man and tried to serve God and be useful in the world. He 
 
38 THE nEAvriruL bouse. 
 
 was a wise man, too, and a scholar ; tliis only could be said 
 against him, he was too much in love with money. Troilus 
 was a miser, and like many misers, he was so afraid thieves 
 would takeaway his gold, that he either hid it in a safe place 
 or carried it about with him. 
 
 One day Patriarch John and Bishop Troilus had their 
 donkeys saddled and rode out of the city away to the sea 
 shore. Riding along the sands they had very pleasant talks 
 on the way about the beautiful works of God they saw all 
 around them, and about their own little work for God in 
 Alexandria. Troilus enjoyed the afternoon very much, and 
 said to John how thankful they should be that they were not 
 like the poor Christians in the West who were being killed 
 or driven from their homes by savage enemies. Just theu 
 John looked forward and saw a great cloud of dust some 
 distance off; and as he looked more closely, he saw that it 
 was made by a large company of peoi^le coming towards 
 them. So he and Troilus rode on quickly and came up to 
 the company. What a sad sight it was ! There were hun- 
 dreds of people there, but they looked like so many ghosts. 
 Old grey haired men and women who could hardly hobble 
 along even with the help of their sticks and crutches ; young 
 men and women that should have been strong and fair, but 
 that were so wasted with starvation as to be mere walking 
 skeletons ; and little children crying piteously for bread or 
 to be taken up into the arms of their poor fainting fathers 
 and mothers : that was what John and Troilus saw. 
 
 A tall, dark-faced man in a long black robe came forward 
 when he saw that John and Troilus were clergymen, and 
 spoke to them in the Latin language, which they knew, al- 
 though their own language was Greek. He told John that 
 he had been the minister of many of these poor people, who 
 
THR BEAUTIFUL HOUSE. ■ $^ 
 
 loved «od and tried to walk in His ways. But armies of 
 wicked men had come into their country. They sacked the 
 towns and villages, killed many of the young men, and made 
 slaves of all whom they took prisoners. So he and his peo- 
 ple left the town where they lived and set out for Egypt, 
 choosing rather to perish on the way than fall into the hands 
 of their cruel enemies. As they went onwards they were 
 joined by many others who were fleeing for the same cause, 
 until they became a great company of helpless, suffering 
 creatures. Some had fallen down by the way and died. 
 Old people and little children, and even some mothers and 
 fathers that had seemed strong and healthy, had been hastily 
 buried in the sands, that no ravenous beast or bird might 
 devour them, while the sad procession moved on. And now 
 here they were at last, so hungry no one could tell who had 
 not gone for days without food, their clothes all soiled and 
 torn their shoes worn away, their flesh blisteied with the 
 «un 'and aching with many sores made by the dust and 
 drifting sand, and so tired and weary that again and again 
 some of them had praved their friends to let them lie down 
 and die. " My father," said the African bishop to Patriarch 
 John, "find some food, some clothes, some shelter, some 
 rest, for my poor flock and God will reward you." 
 
 John's heart was touched with what he heard and saw ; 
 for never before had he known such misery. Troilus, too, 
 was drawing his sleeve across his eyes in a suspicious way 
 and saying in his mind how thankful he ought to be. " If 
 they will come into the city," he said to John, " we will take 
 up a collection for them." But John waved his hand, as 
 Troilus thought too impatiently, and answered : " How dare 
 we ask these weary, starving creatures to go a step farther?" 
 Then turning to the minister, he said : " Let them go aside 
 
40 THE nEAVTlFVL HOVSK. 
 
 under the shade of tliese trees ; there they will find rest, and 
 water to quench their thirst in the meantime." So the people 
 lay down under the trees and tried to rest. " Brother 
 Troilus," said the patriarch, " we must do something for the 
 friends of Christ, and yet I have no money with me; give me 
 thirty pieces of gold." Now thirty large pieces of gold wa» 
 a great sum, and to be asked for so much almost took away 
 the bishop's breath ; but as John was his chief he had to obey, 
 and count it out of his purse. John put the money into the 
 hands of the African minister, and, giving him his ass, told 
 told him to go with Troilus into the city and buy food enough 
 for the people, while Troilus should call together all the 
 presbyters and deacons and get them to provide shelter and 
 clothing, baths and medicines and all else that the perse- 
 cuted friends of Christ might need. So away they went into 
 Alexandria, the minister's heart full of deepest joy and 
 gratitude, that of Troilus heavy and sad. 
 
 Patriarch John staid with the people under the trees. He 
 saw an old man who had lost his headdress and whose head 
 was quite bald, so that he was ashamed of himself. To him 
 he went up, called him father, and put his own hat upon his 
 head. A youth who was supporting his old mother had no- 
 shoes. There were deep cuts in his feet, and the sand got 
 into them and made them so painful that he could hardly 
 keep down a groan as he limped along. John took water 
 from the well, washed the wounded feet and put his own 
 sandals upon them. Then he saw a poor wan mother, 
 lightly clad, with a baby at her breast, looking for some 
 place to lie down while the baby slept. So the kind patri- 
 arch took off his cloak, laid it on the ground, and led the 
 weary woman to this couch as respectfully as if she had 
 been a noble lady. After that he walked about with bare 
 
THE UKAVTtFVL UOVSE. 4» 
 
 head and feet, finding comfortable places for the old, soothing 
 the fretful children, carrying water to the thirsty, washing 
 the cuts and sores of the wounded and binding them up with 
 pieces of his own clothes, all the time speaking kindly words 
 to all and telling them of the food and other good things 
 that were coming. Soon the minister came with a great 
 train of men and animals carrying bread and figs and many 
 things beside. What a sight it was to see these hungry 
 people eat, and above all to see how strong and glad they 
 seemed after a few mouthfuls had put new life into them ! 
 Then after they had eaten and drunk, and the very old and 
 the sick and the very young had been put on the animals 
 and in the baskets that had brought the food, they started 
 for the city. And all the way John walked beside a sick 
 old grandmother, holding her up on his ass, looking, for all 
 his bare head and feet and tattered clothes, as noble and 
 grand as he was true and good. So they came to Alexan- 
 dria, where the presbyterH and deacons, and many good 
 people whose hearts God had touched, met them and carried 
 inetn away to restful, happy homes. But the patriarch was 
 so busy looking after the comfort of everybody that he did 
 not notice, what surprised all the presbyters and deacons, 
 Bishop Troilus was not there. 
 
 Now 'troilus had done all that John had commanded. 
 He had helped the African bishop to buy food for his 
 starving people, and had called together the presbyters and 
 deacons of the Church that they might hear the sad story 
 and do all in their power to help the sufferers. He did not 
 tell the bishop that the large gold pieces which he paid to 
 the merchants for food came out of his purse, for he did not 
 want the bishop's thanks. Nor when he assembled the offi- 
 cers of the Church did he let them know how he, Troilus, 
 
42 THE BE A UTIFUL HO USE . 
 
 had advanced so great a sum of money for the relief of the 
 fugitives, for he was not a vain man ea^er to have much 
 made of his good deeds. But all the time he was thinking 
 how long it would be before the great gap in his money-bag 
 would be filled. Then he blamed John in his heart, because 
 John had so much more to live upon and do good with than 
 he, a poor bishop. It was all very well for a rich patriarch 
 to distribute thirty pieces of gold as if he were a king, but for 
 ■one who had to toil for his daily bread it was quite another 
 matter. Besides, why should he bear the burden of all these 
 people when he was only one man out of many thousands of 
 Christians in Alexandria, all of whom were bound to help 
 their suffering brethren. The right thing would have been 
 whit he had advised — a collection. Then the expense 
 would have been spread over the whole Church, and a piece 
 of silver from every member of the Church would have 
 amounted to far more than his thirty pieces of gold. Also, 
 .this would have taught the people the duty of giving — a 
 lesson they very much needed, in spite of all his earnest 
 preaching. 
 
 Along with these regretful tnoughts a great fear came upon 
 Troilus that John might not be satisfied with the thirty 
 pieces, but, finding he was rich enough to give so much, 
 might ask for more. So he hastened home to leave- the rest 
 •of his money in a safe place before he went back to meet the 
 patriarch. In the strong box under his bed he put the gold 
 pieces, and as he counted them out, thirty short of what he 
 numbered in the morning, the full extent of his loss dawned 
 upon his mind and his heart became heavy as lead. He 
 had hardly closed the box and pushed it back into its place 
 •when a cold chill ran through all his body ; the blood rushed 
 to his head ; for a moment his brain seemed to be on fire ; 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL HOUSE. 43 
 
 and then he fell in a faint upon the floor and knew nothing. 
 His wife came running in, full of fear when she heard the 
 fall, and knelt beside him, thinking he was dead. She raised 
 his head while servants brought wine and water to restore 
 him. They bathed his forehead with the water, poured some 
 wine into his lips, and rubbed his hands and feet, till at last 
 he came to himself and, opening his eyes, said : " I must go 
 back to the patriarch and to the poor friends of Christ." 
 But this his wife and the neighbours who had come in would 
 not let him do. He had been working too hard, he had 
 exposed himself to the heat of the sun, he had been trying 
 his brain with too much study ; so they said he must rest, and 
 they would let John know why he could not go back to him 
 that day. But as they all promised to tell the patriarch, and 
 as everybody thought that some other body would be sure to 
 do so, John never heard that the bishop whom he loved was 
 sick. 
 
 Troilus was laid upon his couch, and, having nothing to 
 do, began again to think of his lost gold. His attentive wife 
 brought him the delicacies that sick people like, but the 
 bishop would not touch them. He muttered some nonaense 
 about being too poor to eat such food, and cautioned his wife 
 to be careful in her household expenses, for he was nearly a 
 ruined man. And she was just a little offended at receiving 
 such advice, for she was a bishop's daughter and prided 
 herself upon knowing how to make a little go a long way. 
 But she thought that her husband's head had been hurt 
 by a sunstroke perhaps, or, it might be, by his fall when 
 he fainted. So she left him in hopes that he would be better 
 after a quiet sleep. Troilus did not sleep. All night he 
 tossed upon his bed thinking of his gold. He went over 
 his old reasonings as to how the needed money should have 
 
44 THE BEAUTIFUL HOUSE. 
 
 been raised, till he worked himself into a frame of what he 
 called righteous indignation, and felt that in all Alexandria 
 there was not a more abused man. He forgot his Scripture- 
 reading;, without which he had never opened or closed the 
 day since he gave himself to the work of God, and, worse 
 than all, he forgot to pray. If he had prayed, his prayer 
 would not have been " Our Father," but " Give me back 
 my thirty pieces of gold." 
 
 In the morning he was very ill. He could take no food, 
 and this, with his want of sleep and painful thoughts, made 
 him so pale and haggard and weak that he looked like an old, 
 old man. His friends were in great grief. A wise phy- 
 sician came, but with all his wisdom could not tell what was 
 the matter with the bishop, and Troilus would not let him or 
 anybody else know his trouble. Still the foolish man hugged 
 his sorrow, and the cry of his heart, which seemed to shed 
 tears of blood with every cry, was " my gold, my lost gold, 
 my thirty broad pieces of gold." At last his mind and 
 body could stand the strain no longer. Troilus fell into a 
 raging fever. In his fever he was like a raving madman. 
 Sometimes his look was wild and fierce like that of a savage 
 beast. Then he would clutch the bedclothes as if he had 
 hold of somebody's throat, crying out " Give me back my 
 money." And again his face was full of terror as he seemed 
 to be holding back one who was advancing towards him, to 
 whom he called, " no more, not one farthing more !" Now 
 he would sink back upon his pillow with such a sad pitiful 
 expression, almost sobbing, " Oh John, John, why did you 
 rob your poor bishop?" ; or he would go on for hours mut- 
 tering like some feeble childish idiot " my thirty pieces of 
 gold." 
 
 Troilus' wife wondered very much that the patriarch did 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL HOUSE. 45 
 
 did not come to see her husband. But in truth nobody had 
 told him that Troilus was ill, and, although he missed his 
 bishop, he was so much taken up with the fugitives that he 
 quite forgot to ask the cause of his absence from the church. 
 So after Troilus had been three days in bed she went to see 
 John. She told him how very sick he was, of his raving in 
 his fever, how not even the wise physician could tell what 
 was the cause of his sickness, and that he was always talk- 
 ing about some lost money. John was very sorry, because 
 he loved Troilus. He left his work and went to see him, 
 but Troilus did not know who he was. The good patriarch 
 knelt down and prayed that God would heal his friend, but 
 all the time that he prayed it shocked him to hear the sick 
 man call out, " Oh my gold, my gold, my lost gold !" Then 
 John knew what was the matter with Troilus. So he said to 
 his wife " My poor brother gave me thirty pieces of gold, the 
 day that the persecuted friends of Christ came to the city, to 
 buy them bread, and now he is afraid that without this 
 money you and your children will be left to starve. I will 
 send you the pieces as soon as I return home, for I only 
 meant to borrow them for a short time, and you must find 
 some way of let ting him know that his gold is not lost." So 
 the patriarch went home very sad in his heart, not so much 
 because Troilus was sick, as because his sickness was a 
 poisonous plant springing from the love of money, which is 
 the root of all evil. .. ' , 
 
 A few minutes later a servant came with a bag of money 
 and handed it to the bishop's wife. Troilus was lying back 
 upon his pillow murmuring " My thirty pieces of gold, my 
 thirty pieces of gold." As he was quiet and his bed was 
 undisturbed, his wife took the coins out of the bag and laid 
 them one by one upon the coverlet just above his knees. 
 
46 THE BEAUTIFUL HOUSE. , 
 
 Soon Troilus sat up and was beginning to tear his hair in 
 his grief and madness, when his eye fell upon the gold. He 
 looked at it with fixed gaze for a moment, and then, with a 
 strange foolish chuckle, like that of a crazy person who sees 
 something which pleases him, he stretche I oat his hand and 
 touched the money. The touch thrilled him, as if the gold 
 were a living thing He picked up the pieces one after 
 another and piled them up in his other hand. Then he 
 spread them out again upon the bed and counted them. 
 Yes, they were all there : thirty pieces of gold, broad pieces, 
 'bright and shining. His wife watched him through the door 
 and thanked God in her heart as she saw how calm and 
 reasonable he became. When Troilus was tired of looking 
 at his gold and counting it, he laid it under his pillow just 
 beneath his head, and then sank into a quiet refreshing 
 sleep, the first that had visited his eyes since his sickness 
 began. 
 
 He awoke in his right mind. The past three days he had 
 no remembrance of, except as a troubled dream. His fever 
 had almost left him, and, although faint and weak, he was 
 very happy because he could put his hand under the pillow 
 and feel that his money was there. No one had told him 
 where it came from, but he knew that it was the patriarch 
 who had returned it as if it were a loan, and now he had no 
 thoughts too kmd and good for the man whom he had 
 judged so harshly a little before. He did not complain of 
 the food that his glad wife brought him, but ate and drank 
 heartily, and even asked for his children that they might 
 receive their father's blessing. There was joy in the bishop's 
 house that night, and among his friends and neighbours, as 
 he fell into the easy restful sleep of returning health. So 
 Troilus slept. until the morning dawned, and then, just as 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL HOUf^E. 47 
 
 the busy round of daily life began outside his closely cur- 
 tained windows in the streets of the city, it called him into 
 that strange state between sleeping and waking when visions 
 pass through men's minds, and Troilus dreamed a dream. 
 
 He was walking, or floating, for he could hardly tell which, 
 in a new country of rare beauty. Far as the eye could 
 reach it was one great garden, whose grassy slopes were 
 covered with unnumbered shrubs and flowers of delicious 
 perfume and gorgeous colouring. Fountains of purest water 
 shot up into the air and broke into delicate spray which 
 watered the green sward, or swelled the little rills that flowed 
 onwards in many a tiny cataract to join the great river below. 
 And the great river itself poured its mighty tide over 
 golden sands with a grand yet joyous rythmic motion that 
 sounded as if ten thousand human voices were singing 
 psalms to God. Then Troilus knew, though he could never 
 afterwards explain it, what is meant by the voice of many 
 waters. There were giant trees upon the river's banks, laden 
 with all manner of fruits, such as neither Egypt nor the land 
 of Palestine had ever known, and on their ever-green branches 
 perched and sang birds of the richest feathering and most 
 melodious voice. The dwellers in this Paradise were clad in 
 robes of dazzling whiteness, and on every brow there shone 
 a royal crown of gold and gems. Nor was there lack of 
 habitations meet for these princely inhabitants. On every side 
 rose palaces embowered in leafy shades, surrounded by grassy 
 lawns and approached by ancient avenues. Troilus felt 
 ashamed of himself in his humble garb and mean appearance 
 amid such scenes of beauty and splendour. He would fain 
 have shrunk away into some quiet corner, but something 
 seemed to push him forward till he came in front of a palace 
 which the workmen were just finishing. It was of marble, 
 
48 THE BEAUTIFUL HOUSE. 
 
 white and polished, grander in its proportions than the most 
 famous Grecian temple. Its pillars were of great transparent 
 stones of changing colours, the names of which he did not 
 know, and its pinnacles of solid gold. A man stood by his 
 side and, pointing to the great portico that formed the 
 entrance to the palace, said simply " Look !" Then Troilus 
 looked upwards and saw a ladder set against the portico, and 
 on the ladder an angel, for so he seemed, with chisel and 
 mallet in his hand. The angel was engraving an inscription 
 over the door ; and when he had ended his work and stood 
 aside to look at it, Troilus read the words : " The everlasting 
 mansion and resting place of Bishop Troilus." No sooner 
 had the bishop read these welcome words than he sprang 
 forward and, with a great shout of joy, awoke. 
 
 The sick man was sorry that he had awakened so soon 
 out of sleep, yet he thanked God for such a vision, and 
 prayed that he might dream it again. Yet before he dozed 
 off into a second sleep he put his hand beneath his 
 pillow and felt his gold, to be sure that it was there. 
 Once more the sights and sounds of this world faded 
 away from eye and ear, and he found himself anew in 
 the garden country of many mansions. Everything seemed 
 even more beautiful than when first the heavenly scene 
 gladdened the eye of his spirit, so that he longed to bring all 
 his friends to this new land, and with them live there for- 
 ever. But he was most anxious to see his own mansion, which 
 before had appeared so fair and stately. With quick steps 
 he hastened over the flower-sprinkled turf and up the avenue 
 of majestic cedars, till he stood opposite the well-known 
 portico. And now it seemed as if the sun were shining down 
 upon the palace with the warm, mellow light of evening, for 
 it was ten fold more glorious than before, so dazzlingly white 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL HOVSE. 49 
 
 were its marble walls, so radiant its glassy pillars of varied 
 hues so bright and shining its roof and pinnacles of burnished 
 gold.' Lightly he pressed on to the broad steps which led to the 
 portico, eager to take possession of the mansion which had 
 been built for him, and that bore his very name and office 
 upon its arched doorway ; w'.ien the grave stranger, who had 
 told him to look before, placed his hand upon his arm and 
 again said : " Look ! " So Troilus, a little impatient at being 
 checked, and expecting to see nothing that had not met his 
 view when last he turned his eyes to the portal, gave a some- 
 what angry glance upwards. The ladder and the angel were 
 still there, and this seemed strange to him because the sculp- 
 tor's work had been finished, the inscription completed at 
 his first visit. " Look," again said the speaker, and Troilus 
 looked more attentively, and, as he looked, a sad change canie 
 over his heart, and burning blushes glowed upon cheek and 
 brow. With mallet and chisel the old inscription had been 
 struck off from the arch. A new one, just finished, had taken 
 its place, and Troilus read it in grief and pain : " The ever- 
 lasting mansion and resting place of John the Patriarch, which 
 he bought from Bishop Troilus for thirty pieces of gold." The 
 Bishop awoke the second time, and, when his wife came to 
 smooth his pillows and to learn how he had he passed the 
 night, she saw that he had been weeping bitterly. 
 
 Troilus had fallen from the heights of bliss almost to the 
 brink of the gulf of despair. He had seen the land of 
 promise in all its beauty, but there was no place in it for 
 him. Worse than all, his heavenly mansion had passed into 
 the hands of another, and all because of his own blind folly 
 and sinful love of earthly things. What was the value of 
 these wretched thirty pieces of gold for which he had bar- 
 tered his everlasting dwelling-place ! They were not enough 
 
 4 
 
5© THE BEAUTIFUL HOUSE, 
 
 to gild a single pinnacle of the house that once bore his 
 
 name. So the bishop came to his better self, and with a 
 
 humble, penitent heart he prayed to the great builder of all 
 
 things, who is God, that he would pardon all his sins for the 
 
 sake of that Blessed Saviour who said, "In my Father's 
 
 house are many mansions — I go to prepare a place for you." 
 
 Then he called his wife and told her of all his faults and the 
 
 wonderful dreams that God had sent to teach him heavenly 
 
 wisdom. He gave her the thirty pieces and bade hef take 
 
 thirty pieces more from the strong box beneath his couch 
 
 and carry them all to John, that the good Patriarch might 
 
 spend them upon the poor friends of Christ. John was glad 
 
 when the bishop's wife came with the gold, because in that 
 
 gold he saw how great were the riches that God had 
 
 poured into the heart of Troilus. What a meeting it was 
 
 when the Patriarch came to visit his bishop. He had loved 
 
 Troilus well before, but now that his life was raised above 
 
 earthly things and wholly given to God, he loved him with 
 
 tenfold affection. With one mind and heart they went about 
 
 their Master's work henceforth, so that no poor friend of 
 
 Christ could tell which of them he loved the most, so 
 
 perfectly had each received the spirit of Him who ** though 
 
 He was rich, yet for our sakes became poor." Many 
 
 happy dreams had Troilus after the busy labours of the 
 
 day were done, and when at last his life's day ended and 
 
 faithful friends stood round his dying bed, they heard the 
 
 bishop's voice : " I see it, I see it j it is real, it is true, it is 
 
 no dream ! the everlasting mansion asid resting place of the 
 
 poor sinner Troilus." And so he passed away into the 
 
 Paradise of God, the House of many mansions. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL HOUSE. |I 
 
 No gold can win heaven, for it is not with corruptible 
 things such as silver and gold, but with the precious blood 
 of Christ that all are saved. But no covetous man who is 
 an idolater hath any inheritance in the Kingdom of Christ 
 and of God. So the blood of Jesus Christ must wash away 
 from our hearts the love of money and all earthly things, 
 and His Holy Spirit must teach us to esteem them all but 
 dross, as matters of little value, compared with the love of 
 God. Then, if the love of God be in our hearts, we will 
 love His people, His poor friends, His little ones. The 
 dross will be useful in enabling us to relieve their wants, 
 and thus show that our love is real and true. In this 
 way we shall make friends of the unrighteous mammon. 
 And when at last we stand before the great Eedeemer, it 
 will be in a very true sense these tokens of our faith and 
 love that will receive us into everlasting habitations, for 
 His gracious words will be, " Inasmuch as ye have done it 
 unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it 
 unto me. Come ye, blessed of my Father, inherit the King- 
 dom prepared for you from the foundation of the world." 
 All may not have the thirty pieces of gold to give, but if 
 they have the Christ-like heart, it will make any gift of great 
 price in His eyes who said, " Whosoever shall give to drink 
 unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only in the 
 name of a disciple, verily I say unto you he shall in no wise 
 lose his reward." 
 
IV. 
 
 rjttt Sttdiaw mv\ and tUje W^oxozxs. 
 

IV. 
 
 5^nc jndian (SltX and the l^loujet^s. 
 
 .. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three ; but the 
 greatest of these is charity."-!. Corinth, xiii. 13. 
 
 Once, so the story tells us, there were no flowers in North 
 America. There were cones upon the pines and cedars and 
 hemlocks, catkins on the birches, and reddish hanging tufts 
 upon the maples that turned afterwards into wmged seeds. 
 The marsh grass also had its blossom, and so had the corn 
 in the clearings, and the wild gooseberries and currants 
 that grew in the rocky clefts. But there were no showy 
 flowers, none of beautiful colour and sweet perfume to make 
 into a nosegay, or twine into wreaths for the heads of the 
 Indian girls. In summer the earth was green ^^'hj^^ /^^^^ 
 • foliage of the trees, and brown and grey with the tree 
 .nks'and the rocks and soil beneath ; and in winter all was 
 white with the snow, except when the wind shook it down 
 from the dark tops of the leafy evergreens, and "^^de ^are th^^ 
 grey leafless trunks of the hardwood trees All the b igh 
 colour men saw was either in the skies above or m their 
 reflection upon the earth. On a bright, clear mornmg, as he 
 sun arose, there was a red light in the east that changed after 
 a while to a golden yellow. It fell upon the distant hUls and 
 gave them hazy purple tops, upon the rocks and made iJ^m 
 glow like silver, upon the trees and gilded their greenery till it 
 shone like a beetle's wing. Then the blue sky came m sight and 
 
56 THE INDIAN GIRL AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 at once found its reflection in the waters of lake and river 
 which before were as dark and gloomy as the forest shades'. 
 And at evening, when the sun was setting, it was even more 
 glorious ; for the western sky and the woods and waters were 
 all flooded with many hued waves of light, crimson and purple, 
 yellow and azure, and light golden green, glowing up or fading 
 away into each other till the darkness of night came on. 
 Sometimes, too, through the day, when the light rain fell from 
 fleecy clouds while the sun was shining, a rainbow would sud- 
 denly start from either horizon across the sky, and in its seven- 
 tmted ribbon display all the colours at once. 
 
 In those days there was an Indian village on the shore of 
 one of the Canadian lakes. It was placed at the end ot 
 a bay, long but shallow, in which the Indians in their canoes 
 fished, or hunted the deer that their dogs had driven out of 
 the woods. The people who lived there were quite contented 
 with their lot, as their fathers had been before them. So long 
 as the crop of Indian corn was good, as the sweet maple sap 
 ran freely in the early spring, and as fish and deer were to be 
 found in plenty, they were happy and cared for nothing else. 
 They liked a clear sky and dry weather, because they felt these 
 to be pleasant and comfortable, but the brightness of the sun- 
 set and the sunrise were nothing to them but signs of what 
 the day or the morrc-- would be. They had never known 
 what flowers were, and did not feel the want of them. Now 
 and again, when they dressed themselves out in their holiday 
 clothes of deer-skin and furs, and looked at their belts and 
 collars of black and white beads, made out of the shells that 
 once came from a distant shore, those who were fondest of 
 show thought of the colours in the skies and longed for a 
 moment to dip their finery in them. But the wish soon passed 
 away as an impossible thing, and they went back to their 
 
THE INDIAN OIRL AND THE FLOWERS. 57 
 
 black and white and green and brown as if there were no other 
 colours in the wide world. 
 
 There was one, however, who thought differently. She was 
 a little girl who had come into the village, nobody seemed to 
 know how. Whether she had strayed there alone or had been 
 left by some wandering tribe, or had been made prisoner in 
 war, none were willing to tell if they knew. She lived in the 
 house of an old chief, where there were some women and 
 young men but no children beside herself Because she was 
 pale, and her neat deerskin dress was tanned very white, she 
 had been called Owistok, the snow-bird, the winter visitor of 
 the snowy north that loses its white coat when the spring 
 comes in, and in its grey cloak and hood, with white breast 
 and beal and feet, looks so like a demure little nun. Just as 
 demure and pretty, but more quiet and gentle was the little 
 bird's name-sake, Owistok. Girls were not much thought of 
 in those old Indian days, but, perhaps, because she lived 
 in the house of tha old chief, and certainly because she 
 was so wise and good, everybody had a kind word for the 
 young foundling. She tried to be helpful to all, to the old 
 women in their hard out-door work and household duties, to 
 the young women with their babies, and to the children like 
 herself in their play. She would sit with the fishermen and 
 supply them with bait, would carry in her share of the cora 
 harvest, boil down the maple sap into sugar, and be the first 
 to welcome the hunters home. Even the dogs knew her, and 
 when driven away by others, were always sure of a refuge 
 and a bone in her company. But although she was so willing 
 and so kind, she was not strong ; and many a time as the men 
 and women looked after her, going away tired and weary from 
 some good work beyond her strength, they would say : " Our 
 little Owistok will fly away with the other snow-birds before 
 another summer comes. 
 
58 THE INDIAN GIRL AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 The Indian girl loved the sky, and she loved the earth 
 most when the colours of the sky shone upon it. These 
 colours were something real in her eyes, and she wanted 
 them. Why did they only come for so short a time and 
 then fade away ; all except the blue of the water, and that 
 hardly lasted for more than a day ? Sometimes, indeed, the 
 lake remained beautiful all through the night, with the silver 
 moonbeams glancing over its sapphire waves and the star 
 points flickering on its surface. She was tempted to take 
 some of its water up in her hand, to dip some up in a bowl 
 of coarse earthenware, hoping to keep the blue near her. 
 Alas ! the blue faded away, and she saw nothing but the 
 well-known colour of hand and bowl instead. Still she did 
 not give up her confidence. There was blue somewhere if 
 it was not in the water. She ran a mile along the shore to 
 find the end of the rainbow arch, only to see it vanish from 
 sight. She climbed a hill top early in the morning to bathe 
 herself in the violet light, and paddled her canoe in the 
 evening far into the sunset, in hopes that even one ray of 
 glory might descend upon her, but all in vain. Yet still, 
 though bitterly disappointed, she believed that the colours 
 she saw were real and true. She could not name the colours 
 nor describe tlem to anyone. She only knew that they 
 were beautiful, that they did her good to look at them, and 
 that she would be more happy if she had them somehow to 
 herself. 
 
 Owistok was not selfish in her love of the colours. She 
 wished to make the world more beautiful and the people in 
 it happier by their means. She saw a young squaw standing 
 in the rosy light of the morning, and noticed how lovely she 
 looked. What would she not have given to make that 
 passing loveliness stay ! She gathered sprigs of herbs and 
 
TBE INDIAN GIRL AND THE FLOWERS. S$ 
 
 leafy twigs of many trees, and wove them into a garland, 
 then hung the garland about a baby's neck. The fading 
 sunlight shining down through the trees fell upon the different 
 shades of green that she had woven, giving them such a 
 brightness and newness of colour that the little child clutched 
 the leaves as a coveted prize. Then Owistok cried like a 
 baby herself, because the little fellow threw the garland away 
 when he found it was made of nothing that he had not seen 
 before. A canoe came round a point just then full into the 
 glow of the western sky. The water was calm, and the 
 canoe seemed to stand high out of it, and the two Indians 
 who were paddling appeared to be giants, but such radiant 
 heavenly giants, in a ship of gold with paddles of silver 
 gently gliding over a crimson sea, that she ran to the beach 
 to meet them, hoping to see visitors from another world. 
 The canoe came in, a common, dirty log canoe, paddled by 
 two of the commonest Indians in tho village ; and Owistok 
 stood dumb with disappointment and holding her hands 
 before her eyes for very shame. And when she came to 
 herself she could not tell the men what she had seen far off 
 and hoped to see near, because it would only make them 
 unhappy to think they were so unlike her vision of beauty. 
 
 One day the girl ventured to speak to the old chief about 
 the colours in the sky. Everybody else had laughed at her 
 when she had said they were real things and could be 
 handled, and had told her she was foolish to hope they 
 might be brought down into the world to stay. But the old 
 chief listened quietly to the girl's earnest talk, and when at 
 last he smiled, it was not a smile of doubt or ridicule, but a 
 kindly one that seemed to say, "all you have told me is very 
 good." When she had done talking he answered, ** My 
 little snow-bird, let me tell you what happened long, long 
 
6o THE INDIAN GIRL AND THE FLOWERS, 
 
 ago, when I was young and strong, and my eyes were clear 
 and quick to see. There came into this village three birds, 
 much larger than our little friends whose name you bear. 
 One was the colour of the morning sun, another that of the 
 moon when she shines through the smoke of the burning 
 forest, and the other that of the clear summer sky. I saw 
 them as near to me as you are now. I could have shot 
 them with my bow, but did not dare. They staid a little 
 while and then flew away together. After they were gone, 
 as I walked under the branches they had perched upon, I 
 saw three feathers which they had let fall, one from each 
 bird. I picked them up and kept them. Though it is so 
 many years ago, I have them now. See for yourself that 
 these colours are real and true." Then the old chief opened 
 his medicine bag, took out a little roll of soft birch bark, 
 and handed it to the child. She opened it up with eager 
 fingers, and there lay, fresh as if they had fallen but yester- 
 day, the feathers of the golden oriole, the scarlet tanager, 
 the bluebird, that had come to the chief in his youthful days 
 to teach him a lesson of faith. 
 
 Owistok gazed at the feathers with eager, loving eyes. 
 There were tears in them, but they were tears of joy. Now 
 she knew that the loveliness of the skies was no delusion to 
 mock the trusting heart, but something as real and true as 
 the sober browns and greens of the forests in which she 
 dwelt. " Oh father," cried the girl at last ; '« why cannot 
 everybody, the old men and the warriors, the squaws and 
 the children, have such feathers as these to handle and look 
 at and adorn themselves with, till the world becomes more 
 beautiful ? Will they not grow like the corn we put into 
 the ground in spring, and give us enough for all ?" The old 
 chief answered, " No, my little snow-bird ; " they cannot 
 
THE INDIAN GIRL AND THE FLOWERS. 6 1 
 
 grow. If we were to put them in the ground their colour 
 would be washed out by the rain, and they would be 
 bleached white by th<^ sun. Very soon, my little pale-face, 
 too soon for all our hearts, you will have more beautiful 
 things than these. Then do not forget the people you have 
 loved, but send us such colours as will grow." Owistok 
 promised eagerly ; then the old man rose, and, taking her 
 quietly in his arms, laid her upon her couch of furs, where 
 she fell asleep. 
 
 There was grief in the chief's house next morning. The 
 old man took back his three feathers out of a little hand 
 which would never open again, and put them away sadly in 
 his medicine bag. The squaws moved quietly about their 
 work, only sobbing as they looked upon a weary little face 
 that yet wore a pleasant smile. There was neither fishing 
 nor hunting that day. The children who knew no better 
 cried for Owistok to come and play with them, and the 
 older ones who knew could not comfort them. Everyone in 
 the village felt that the world had suddenly became very 
 empty. If a great chief had been taken away they could not 
 have felt it more. But Owistok knew nothing of this. Very 
 early that morning, it seemed to her, she had been awakened 
 by the song of a bird, such a sweet song as she had never 
 heard before. She rose up from her couch feeling strong and 
 well, quite well, without any weariness or ache or pain at all ; 
 and she rose into a lovely summer day. What she wanted 
 was to see the bird that had roused her with its song ; and 
 there it was, with crested head and shoulder tufts and 
 plumes and long curling tail feathers of every rainbow 
 colour, perched upon a tree beside her. She chirruped to 
 the winged beauty as she used to do to the little snowbirds, 
 and, like the tamest among them it came to her shoulder. 
 
62 THE INDIAN OJRL AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 and even to her hand. Then it would fly on a little before 
 her, singing when it stopped, to invite her to follow. So on 
 they went along the sandy beach and among the forest trees, 
 tho bird leading her such a race as she had never run, all in 
 the bright sunlight too, and yet she was as fresh and strong 
 as when they started. Then she saw that the bird must be 
 leading her somewhere, and did not wonder at it, because 
 the pretty creature seemed so wise. Gladly she followed 
 and answered back its song with a voice as s^veet and a heart 
 as full of joy. 
 
 \ Owistok and her little leader came at last away from the 
 lakeshore and the forest into a field of brightest green. Then 
 the bird soared up towards the sky, and as her oye followed 
 him she saw, reaching far overhead, the rainbow arch she 
 had sought before in vain. It was firm and solid as if made 
 of great transparent stones of every colour, and she longed 
 to set her feet upon it that she might give another proof how 
 real and true things beautiful were. The bird came down 
 again and led her in a short time to the foot of the arch 
 which was not resting upon the ground, but built upon a 
 solid foundation that went down, how deep nobody can tell. 
 She set her foot upon it, trembling a little at first, as she 
 thought of disappointments before. But it was firm and 
 solid as the everlasting hills, and soon she was running and 
 skipping like a fawn up its gentle incline. She saw the 
 world beneath her growing very small as she ascended, and 
 looking forward saw the great white clouds that had seemed 
 so small when viewed from the earth, spreading out on every 
 side. In a little while she was among the clouds that looked 
 like a great expanse of snow with little points of golden sun- 
 light shining everywhere upon its surface. But it was neither 
 cloud noi snow ; it was a great mass of flowers, white, many- 
 
THE INDIAN GIRL AND THE FLOWERS. 63 
 
 petaled flowers, with p;olden-yellow hearts and great green 
 leaves floating beneath them. Long purple and steel- 
 coloured dragon flies and beautiful little birda flitted here 
 and there and hovered over the blossoms which lay before 
 her feet like a sea. O what joy filled the little girl's heart ! 
 She had found the colour that would grow. It was only 
 white, indeed, and they had the white snow and the white 
 bark of the paper birch down in the Indian village, but they 
 had no flower like this. She touched the blossoms ; they 
 too were real. She smelt their fragrance, sweeter than that 
 of the Indian grass or the marsh hay in summer harvest 
 time. Tenderly her fingers grasped the strong flower stalk 
 that she might bring the lovely blossom closer to her face, 
 that she might press it to her heart. She did not break the 
 stem, but it came away in her hand as if it were a living, 
 thinking and loving thing that knew how she loved it and 
 wanted to come to her embrace. So one and another and 
 another came to her until her arms were full, and the bundle 
 of blossoms was large enough for her bird friend to perch 
 upon and there warble his sweetest songs. Thus, with fra- 
 grant white lilies beneath and around her and clasped to her 
 bosom, she went on her way over the rainbow arch. 
 
 Owistok passed over the great field of lilies after a while 
 and saw the blue sky before her. She began to be afraid 
 that the arch ended here, but the bird went forward sing- 
 ing gaily to let his little companion know there was nothing 
 to fear. Then she regained her courage and went on to the 
 point where the white ended and the blue began. Here was 
 another joyful surprise. People might call the blue by the 
 name sky or any other name they liked, but it was a bed of 
 flowers all the same. Far as the eye could reach the 
 flowers grew, blue as the waters she had tried to take into 
 
64 THE INDIAN GIRL AND THE FLOWEIiS. 
 
 her hand. They were of two kinds : one rising, out of a 
 sheathing leaf shaped Hke an Indian arrowhead, into a long 
 spike around which the blue blossoms thickly clustered; 
 and the other with a leaf like the bulrush, out of which 
 sprang a straight and narrower stem crowned with three 
 large showy petals that curled outwards and downwards 
 from the golden throat like tongues. What could the little 
 girl do with these new riches, brighter than the blue bird's 
 feather she had held in her hand last night ? Her arms 
 were full already of the beautiful lilies. Then the thought 
 of the feather made her think of the old chief's request, and 
 her promise to remember the people she had loved and send 
 them colours that would grow. So she looked down through 
 a rift between the lilies and the flowers of blue, and saw the 
 village from which she had come and the bay on the shore 
 of which it was built just beneath. Kissing the flowers 
 tenderly and breathing their fragrance again, she dropped 
 them one by one through the rift in the sky, bidding them 
 each go and make her friends happy and the world beauti- 
 ful. Then she gathered the blue as she had gathered the 
 white, till her arms were full, and went forward on her way. 
 That night, though it was all day to Owistok, tho people of 
 the Indian village said that they saw stars falling from the 
 sky. Many of the braves were frightened, bat the old chief 
 was glad, and said to himself, "Our little snowbird has kept 
 her promise." . - . 
 
 " If I have found such beautiful flowers already," thought 
 Owistok, " what a lovely land of flowers there must be before 
 me !" So she went forward with great hope in her heart. 
 The walking had been very easy and pleasant so far, but 
 now it seemed easier than ever. She had reached the top of 
 the arch and was going down towards the western sky. 
 
THE INDIAN GIRL AND THE FLOWERS. 6$ 
 
 Soon that western sky burst upon her in all its glory. Only 
 at sunset had she ever seen anything half so beautiful. A 
 great field of crimson, yes of crimson blossoms, lay before 
 her, and her bird was singing as if his heart were nigh break- 
 ing for joy. Just such a great joy sprang up in her own 
 breast. She did not believe now in things of beauty, she 
 did not hope any longer ; she knew, and the knowledge made 
 her so happy that if she had been the same little Indian girl 
 Owistok she thought she was, there would have been no 
 room in her little body for the treasures of that happiness. 
 She came to the crimson field. O lovely blossoms ! now 
 dark and rich, now bright and glowing, with your expanded 
 wings and long tails like birds of Paradise ready to fly away 
 from your nest of light green leaves, with what bliss you 
 filled that young child's heart ! The white was pure and 
 fragrant, the blue fresh and beautiful, but the crimson is 
 warm and generous ; it is her own colour, the colour of the 
 love she shewed on earth so well. It makes her think of 
 the loved ones, of the dark-haired maidens whom the flower 
 would become, of the little children whom its beauty would 
 attract in their most wayward mood, and of the old people 
 who could place it before them in their homes as an image 
 of the love that once had been and was to be theirs again in 
 the Spirit Land. So she drops the blue blossoms one by one 
 over the edge of the rainbow arch, and again with her 
 prayers they fall like shooting stars down into the bay near 
 the home where grief is not yet silent. 
 
 Her arms full of the crimson-scarlet flowers, Owistok 
 goes forward, no longer treading the flowers down, but car- 
 ried along as if she were a bird with wings ; and as she goes, 
 the flowers appear more beautiful, the sunlight brighter, the 
 world perfectly full of happiness. Not her one bird that led 
 
 '' -' 5 ^ . ,-_,.■ -- 
 
6$ THE INDIAN GIRL AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 her from the humble Indian cabin, but along with him a 
 thousand of brighter phmiage and sweeter song keep her 
 company ; and as she nears the end of the rainbow arch she 
 hears wonderful notes like human voices bidding her wel- 
 come to everlasting joy. She has come to the end of the 
 arch — no, not to the end, for the road seems to have no end, 
 but to the point where it leaves the world out of view, and 
 now is her only chance if she would share with her friends 
 below the treasures which have made her so glad. Still she 
 can see the village, a little speck in the far off distance, and 
 somehow she does not want to go back again. Besides, the 
 morning is not half over yet. It is hard to part with these 
 red flowers, but then she thinks of her promise and her 
 friends. Down they go, therefore, another heavenly shower, 
 and she gazes over the arch to see theui fall safely and very 
 near her old home. Then she rises with nothing in her 
 hands, and glad she is that it is so. For before her is a 
 golden gate wide open, and within the gate are flowers and 
 trees so beautiful, so fragrant, so full of blessed life, that no 
 tongue can tell, no pen can write a word about them that 
 would be half the truth. But why she is glad to be empty- 
 handed is because some one she has seen in her dreams, 
 and who seems to spring out of the rainbow arch itself, folds 
 her in arms of such love that her own arms are not empty 
 enough to throw around his neck, while he carries the little 
 snow-bird into the heart of the happy land. That night the 
 old chief looks forth himself and sees the shower of meteors 
 falling from the sky. " Owistok is thinking of us," he says 
 to himself ; " soon we shall see brighter things than my 
 three feathers." 
 
 A long year passes away. The summer goes, and the 
 corn harvest follows ; the winter hunting season gives place 
 
THE INDIAN ami AND TIIK FLOW K US. 67 
 
 to the spring sugar-making, and then summer comes again. 
 Through that year there was one Owistok lying in the 
 ground under the forest trees, and another up over the rain- 
 how arch in the happy land. But Owistok under the trees 
 saw nothing, felt nothing, thought nothing either good or 
 bad, while Owistok in the happy land was full to overflowing 
 of the blessed life. The day came round in the Indian vil- 
 lage when the little girl went away just a year before. The 
 old chief could not bear to stay at home that day, so he went 
 down to the beach and pushed his canoe out into the water, 
 and then paddled away through the long shallow bay into 
 the great lake. There was not a cloud overhead, and the 
 waters were as blue as the sky above. The sun was brightly 
 shining, but a light breeze helped to make its heat pleasant, 
 and rocked the little bark with the gently rippling waves it 
 stirred. For a long time the old man paddled to and 
 fro thinking of Owistok, and wondering if the land to which 
 she had gone was more beautiful than the world he was in 
 just then. " It is time my little snow-bird kept her pro- 
 mise," he said to himself, as he paddled home again. Soon 
 he reached the bay and saw the village near its end. But as 
 he skirted the bay not very far from the shore, he felt some- 
 thing that seemed to stop the way of the canoe, as a long 
 fishing-line held out from it or a Hoating branch would do. 
 He put his hand over the side as he turned the canoe half 
 round and caught hold of something soft and slippery. He 
 pulled it in and found a great green leaf, quite round with a 
 narrow slit at one point running half way through till it met 
 the stalk. This was something new. Balancing himself care- 
 fully, the old chief peered with his dim eyes over the side of 
 his frail craft, and saw other leaves like the first. But he 
 saw more j in the midst of them was a flower, a growing 
 
68 Tin: in in as hihl ami the ti.nwKns. 
 
 colour, while with a golden heart ; and there was another, 
 and yet another, tloatiiig on the surface of the water hke 
 ivory cups and spreading tlieir fragrance far and wide. '* Oh," 
 he cried, " if my httle Owistok were only here, what a hajjpy 
 child I should see ! what a bringer of joy this poor old useless 
 man might become I" And then he bethought himself, and 
 said: "But why should I grieve,. for it is my little snowbird 
 who has kept her promise and sent us down these pure 
 flowers so like herself." 
 
 Soon the bow of the canoe was full of water lilies, and the 
 
 wrinkled, grey-haired chief was smiling towards them like a 
 
 child. He was near home now, and in a little n-hile there 
 
 would be joy and gladness in r'l the village he thought, and 
 
 the people would remember ti.e little girl who went away a 
 
 year ago. He left the water lilies behind him, but still there 
 
 was something that rubbed softly against the sides of his 
 
 boat. Again his hand went over the gunwale, and this time 
 
 up came a stalk with a broad green arrow for a leaf and 
 
 a great spike of blue blossoms, so blue that the water looked 
 
 pale beside them. " Owislok has kept her promise," the old 
 
 man almost shouted, as he gathered in the flowers of the 
 
 pickerel weed. Nearer still to the shore he found a few late 
 
 blossoms of the blue iris that flowe; s usually much earlier in 
 
 the season. Then the canoe grated gently on the sandy beach 
 
 full of floral treasures. He lands and walks a step forward, 
 
 intending to call the boys and girls, that they may carry the 
 
 treasures home, when his eye, dim as it is, falls on a little patch 
 
 of green not far from the water's edge, which he has never 
 
 seen there before. He stoops his aged form towards it. It is 
 
 green below, indeed, but above it is the colour of blood, of 
 
 the moon rising through the smoke, of the glorious evening 
 
 sky. So, with a cry that echoes through the village and all 
 
Tin: lyiHAS a mi. Asn rm: flow Kits. 69 
 
 along the shores of the bay, a cry of'' Owistok, Owistok, you 
 have kept your word," he gathers in the scarlet and crimson 
 harvest of the cardinal flower. 
 
 Everybody runs down to the beach, the braves and the 
 young men, the scjuaws, the girls, and even the children. 'I'hey 
 have heard the old chief's words and think that Owistok has 
 come back again. .Some, therefore, are much disappointed 
 when they find the aged warrior radiant with joy among the 
 blossoms. The braves look out u])on the bay with its lining of 
 lily pads and pickerel flowers, and declare that the fishing 
 is ruined, and that game will never come near such a tangle of 
 water weeds. A few careful sfiuaws want to know if the 
 flowers are good to eat, and when the old chief indignantly 
 answers that that is not what they are for, they go away un- 
 concerned. But the children ! how they revel in the colours, 
 and ask fora yellow-hearted lily or pinky-white bud, for an iris, 
 and, almost tremblingly as if it were too much to ask, for a 
 single blossom of the cardinal flower. Then away they go with 
 their prizes and bathe their youn^ souls in the new-found vision 
 of loveliness. The girls braid the long stalks in each others' 
 hair, letting the flowers hang so skilfully that it is hard to tell 
 which is the more becoming to these dark-eyed maidens, the 
 pearly white or the deep sky-blue or the blood-red living 
 ornament. Many a young man, too, does not disdain to 
 break a thorn from a tree or take a porcupine quill from his 
 dress, and with it pin to his hunting shirt ot deerskin one of 
 the tokens of Owistok's love. And the good old squaws, whose 
 steps are feeble and their backs bowed with long years of hard 
 work, pick up a flower here and there till one hand is full, 
 then carry them home and set them in an unused broken cup, 
 where the weary eye may be rested by the sight of them, and 
 with their fragrance and beauty some joy may enter the heart. 
 
fP THE INI) I A N GlltL A ND TIIK, FL WEIiS. 
 
 " If our snow-bird can sec us, how happy she must be," 
 thought the old chief, as he entered the house with an armful 
 of treasures. But he did not know that the Great Spirit was 
 looking down and rejoicing in the joy of his children. 
 
 That summer had been from the beginning very dry, so that 
 away from the water the grass was parched and the leaves 
 were commencing to shrivel on the trees. There were forest 
 fires at many points on the lake. You could smell the smoke 
 of them in the air and feel its smart in your eyes ; but the 
 breeze kept it away from the village. Such a breeze was 
 blowing gently again, when next day the old chief with a 
 heart full of loving thoughts about his little snow-bird, paddled 
 forth into the lake. But before he had gone far the wind died 
 away, and suddenly, like a great grey pall, the smoke came 
 down on every side. So dense was it that he could hardly see 
 the bow of his canoe, and everything else was hidden from 
 sight. Not even the sun, which often on smoky days he had 
 perceived like a little red ball in the heavens, could pierce his 
 way through the haze, or perhaps through the clouds above it. 
 The chief was all alone. He thought of the way he had come 
 and tried to return upon his track. Hour after hour passed 
 away, but he .:aw no sign of land, touched no rock, felt 
 nothing but the water which he dashed with his paddle and 
 the blinding smoke that made his aged eyes smart with pain. 
 Fiercely he struggled along, careless whether he wrecked his 
 little craft or no, the perspiration streaming from his forehead 
 with the violent efforts he was making. Yet he came no 
 nearer home. He knew that night had come though he could 
 see no stars, and all through that night he toiled until his 
 strength was well-nigh spent. Then he lay down in his canoe 
 and washed his aching eyes and waited for day. 
 
 As the old chief waited, he thought of Owistokand of the 
 
THE INDIAN GIRL AND THE FLOWERS. 7 1 
 
 flowers she had sent down, which came like stars from heaven. 
 Then he said to himself that the little snow-bird could never 
 have found hei way alone to the place where the flowers grew 
 The Great Spirit must have guided her safely and very quickly, 
 since the falling meteors came so soon. So he looked up 
 to where he knew the sky was, though he could not see it, 
 and he prayed " Great Spirit, guide a poor old man, as you 
 guided my lost Owistok home." Then he rose and took his 
 paddle once more. And lo ! a star shot down, from what 
 point in the heavens he could not tell, but it fell some distance 
 in front of him. Towards the spot where the star seemed to 
 fall he paddled his canoe. After he had gone a little space 
 he felt something dragging or in some way hindering his 
 course. He put his hand over the side and brought close 
 up to his eyes the most welcome of all sights, a water lily. 
 He put his paddle down its full length in the water to feel 
 for the bottom, ' it the paddle could not fathom the water's 
 depth. Nevertiieless he knew that the bottom was not far 
 off and that land was near. Carefully now he felt his way, 
 never leaving the bed of water lilies, though sometimes he 
 went back and sometimes forward among them. Again in 
 his heart he prayed '' Lead me," and this time it was the blue 
 flower of the pickerel weed which his hand grasped and 
 brought into the canoe before his rejoicing eyes. " I shall 
 soon be home now," he said, for the blue flower put hope 
 into his heart. Now it was the pickerel weeds he would 
 not leave. Sometimes they carried him back to the water 
 lilies, and sometimes to the open water, but again and again 
 he tried among them for the shore. At last his hand went 
 forth and clutched another plant. He brought it up to his 
 face and shouted for joy ; for its colour was that of the car- 
 dinal flower, and he knew that it grew on the land. "Safe 
 
f§ THh' INDIAN (IIUL AND Till: I'LOWHHS. 
 
 at home," he cried, and rose to his feet, then stumbled and 
 fell, Ijecaiise he was very weary. 
 
 In an instant he was on his feci again. What a change in 
 a single moment ! 'I'he smoke had cleared away, the sun 
 was high in the heavens, and there, wonder of wonders, was 
 Httle Owislok running to meet him, her arms all full of 
 flowers, herself the loveliest (lower of them all. He told her 
 so, as he tenderly embraced his snowbird found once more; 
 but when she said that he was just as lovely and much nobler 
 and grander, he would not beHeve, and said he was a poor 
 old Indian whom the (ireat Spirit had made young. Then 
 they went offhand in hand into the country of never- withering 
 flowers and never fading joys, to begin the blessed life that 
 knows no ending. 
 
 In the Indian village, a squaw going down to the lake for 
 water found the aged chief lying half out of the canoe, with 
 his face upon the ground in the midst of the cardinal flowers. 
 The men came down and carried him up to his house and 
 laid him on his couch, but he never spoke again. They 
 wondered much how he had found his way home through 
 the thick smoke that still lay like a dense cloud over land 
 and water, and why there was such a happy look upon his 
 quiet face. Then one of the women pointed to his hands. 
 There, half-crushed by the j^addle in the one hand lay a lily 
 and a blue water weed, and in the other, fresh and whole, 
 was the scariet-crimson blossom of the cardinal flower. 
 " These have guided him over the waters," she said, " and 
 something like them must have led him to a happier home." 
 Since that day, long, long ago, many an Indian has found 
 his way by means of the flowers that Owistok threw down 
 from the sky. 
 
TIIH INhlAN (JlliL AN/) TU/'J I'UtWFJtS. 73 
 
 You would like to know what the flowers are, but I must 
 first tell you what it is to he without the flowers and to want 
 them. 'I'here is only One who is all true and beautiful and 
 good, and that is (lod j and everything that is true and 
 |)caiiliful and good comes from Him. He has given us 
 much that is beautiful in this world, but not enough to satisfy 
 us or make us truly happy. Many people never tliink of 
 anything better than the pleasures of this world, or, if they 
 do for a short time, do not allow the thought to change their 
 life. lUit others, like little Owisiok, look away from earth to 
 heaven. They see j)art of this heaven in their own hearts, 
 which tell that (lod is pure and holy and good and that 
 there is a blessed world beyond the grave for those who are 
 like God. J kit the best and truest i)art of heaven they see 
 in the Word of (iod, which shows us heaven itself and 
 heaven shining on our earth in God's own Son and all the 
 sons and daughters who have been made like Him. They 
 long to have the glories of heaven, the beauty of holiness, in 
 their own hearts airl in the hearts and lives of all men, so 
 that the world may share the beauty of heaven. So, in 
 answer to their prayers and to beautify them and fill them 
 with joy, God gives them the three flowers. The first is 
 Faith, the pure white lily with the golden centre, for our 
 faith has no colour at all but is just a hand that holds God's 
 golden gift and believes all He says. The next is Hope, 
 blue as the sky overhead, because it oj)ens heaven before us. 
 It is not one hope but many, like the pickerel weed and the 
 iris ; hope of being with God, of being like God, of having a 
 place in His kingdom, of meeting our lost ones there, and 
 many precious things beside. And last of all comes Love, 
 blood red like the cardinal flower, for it comes from the 
 heart and it gives the life to God, as God gave His Son's 
 
74 I'lH'^ INDIAN untL AND Till': FLOWHItS. 
 
 life-blood for us. When this flower comes into our hearts 
 our heavenly l)OU(iuet is complete. 
 
 Faith tell.i us that (iod and heaven are near and are ours, 
 though we do not .sec them ; Hope tells us we are getting 
 nearer, and paints before our eyes the joys of heaven ; Love 
 tells us that heaven is begun, for it is the spirit of Jesus 
 Christ, the great Lord of heaven, in our hearts. Then let us 
 live like the little Indian girl, so that through our lifetime 
 the world may see these flowers adorning us and thus desire 
 them, and that, when we at last cross the rainbow arch into 
 heaven, the memory we leave behind may be like the blos- 
 soms which led the old chief to home and peace. And, 
 above all, let us remember the flower that grows on solid 
 ground. Few can know your faith, fewer still your hope, 
 but love is visible to all. Therefore the Bible says : '* The 
 greatest of these is charity." 
 
V. 
 
 Mv a^ijmcv'a «jetwice tor (l5oa. 
 
V. 
 
 S>ix ^xjmct^si Service for (^od. 
 
 "Inasmuch as ya have done it unto one of tlic least of these 
 my bietlircn, yc have done it unto me." — Matthew xxv. 40. 
 
 Squire Aymer was the only son of a French nobleman, 
 who lived in the old days of chivalry. He was a goodly 
 youth, tall, and straight as an arrow, handsome in feature, 
 strong and l>rave ; he was courteous in his manners, kind 
 and generous to all, yet withal so full of lofty pride that he 
 could not bear the thought of anyone having a higher aim in 
 life than himself. As he had come to manhood's years it 
 was time for him to drop the title of squire and take that of 
 knight. Indeed he had already done many a knightly deed 
 and well deserved the honour which, ut any rate, was due to 
 Ills father's son. But his loving father was an old man and 
 feeble. He could not go with Aymer to the king's court 
 and say to the monarch, " Here is my son whom I wish to 
 be made a knight." One day, however, a visitor came to 
 the castle and told them of a great court day soon to be 
 iield, when knights and squires from all parts of T'rance were 
 to appear and tilt against one another with spears before the 
 king and queen and all the lords and ladies of the land. 
 Ricli prizes were to be given to the best tilters, and the 
 young squires who did well in the ring were to be made 
 knights by the king himself. When Aymer heard this he 
 made up his mind to go to the court. His father gave his 
 
78 sin AYMKH'S SEHVICh: F<ni (101). 
 
 consent, and ordered his servants to make everything ready 
 in the castle, so that his son might journey as it was fit for 
 a nobleman to do and make a good appearance before the 
 king. But the gentle Marguerite, who had been Aymcr's 
 playmate when he was a boy, and who was his father's ward 
 because her own father had been his companion and had 
 left her in his care when he died, this gentle Marguerite 
 wept when she knew that Aymer was going away. 
 
 Squire Aymer was dressed in his father's best suit of 
 armour which fitted him well, armed with sword and spear 
 and shield, and his head crowned with a helmet of 
 shining steel and golden ornament and nodding plumes. 
 He mounted his favourite horse and, followed by a small 
 company of men at arms, galloped proudly down the 
 avenue, till his father and Marguerite could .see him no 
 more. A few days journey brought him to the court 
 just as the sports were about to begin. When he came to 
 the lists where all the knights and squires were waiting, a 
 richly dressed herald asked his name and his errand. He 
 answered that he was Squire Aymer, the son of a nobleman 
 well known to the king, and that he had come to do brave 
 deeds of arms, so that he might be made a knight by the 
 king's hand. So at a sign from the herald, the warders 
 opened a way for him into the ring where the tilting was to 
 take place, and Aymer ranged his horse alongside of the 
 other squires and made a finer figure than them all. Soon 
 it was the turn of the squires to charge against brave 
 knights who had seen service on many a battle field. Many 
 a young cheek grew pale, and many a strong young arm 
 trembled as thoy rushed across the field with such stout 
 warriors before them. But Aymer's heart knew no fear; 
 his arm was as steady as if he had been at play. His 
 
sin A vMfj/rs sKii vice trut aon. 79 
 
 good horse bore him bravely on ; he raiight his enemy's 
 lance ui)on his siiield and turned it aside, while his own 
 sioat spear, blimtcd though it was so that it might not 
 kill, made a terrible dent in his foeman's breastplate and 
 sent him reeling out of his saddle to the ground. Then, 
 as he leaped from his horse and helped the fallen knight 
 to rise, the people shouted, the ladies waved their kerchiefs 
 in the air, and the king asked the name of the brave young 
 s(|uire. 
 
 Again on that day, and the next, and the next again, Aymer 
 fought, and every time he came out the conqueror. 'I'hen, 
 after the knights who had done bravely had received their 
 rewards, the heralds blow their trumpets and tho chief of 
 them called upon the stjuires to come forward to the king. 
 There were only four that had won the honour of knight- 
 hood, and the lirst of these was Scjuire Aymer. Now it was 
 the fashion in those old days for a squire when he was first 
 made a knight to name some one whom he promised to love 
 and serve with a pure, true heart and willing hand, and for 
 whom he vowed that he would fight to the death against all 
 enemies. So the first S((uire that knelt before the king, who 
 was the last of the four in deeds of arms, chose the most 
 lovely lady in the court \ and when the king laid his sword 
 upon his shoulder and made him a knight, he swore that he 
 would always think of that la ly, whether far or near, that he 
 would try to be worthy of her, and serve her if she needed 
 his service, and, above all, that he would do battle with all 
 who snid there was anyone in the land more beautiful. The 
 next squire said he would love and serve the queen, for she 
 was the most noble lady in all the world. And the third 
 vowed to do batde to the death only for the king, because 
 he was greater even than the queen. At last it came Squire 
 
#e sm A yMh'ii's sehvicf. Fan non. 
 
 Aymer's turn. He knelt beforo the king, just after an old 
 priest, who had known his father, had spoken to him a few- 
 words in a whispnr, and as he knelt, the old priest said 
 aloud "my son, remember!" The king's sword fell upon 
 his shoulder, and as it lay there Squiro Aymer vowed that 
 he would ever love and serve with true, pure heart and wil- 
 h'ng hand the great God of heaven who rules over all the 
 nations of the world, and Him only, and that he would fight 
 for Him to the death against all his enemies. Then the 
 king said " Rise up. Sir Aymer, and keep your vow like a 
 true knight ;" but he wondered, and all who heard it won- 
 dered, at the strange promise Aymer had made. Many 
 murmured, and said it was a pity that so goodly a young 
 knight and so brave should turn his back upon the world as 
 if he were a monk rather than a knight. Not so the old 
 priest ; he blessed Aymer and said, " God be with you my 
 son, you have taken a noble vow." 
 
 The sports had come to an end. The king and queen 
 were now in their palace, and many of the knights and noble- 
 men were returning to their homes. Sir Aymer too was 
 getting ready to leave the court, and thinking all the time 
 of his vow. What should he do for God whom he had 
 promised to serve ? When would he see God whom he had 
 sworn to love ? These were the questions that rose in his 
 mind and found no answer there. So he called his men 
 together and rode towards home at the head of them, mean- 
 ing when he reached the castle to ask his wise father these 
 two questions, and, when he got the answers, to go apy\\ here 
 and do anything that he might keep his plighted word. As 
 he and his men were riding quietly in the heat of the day 
 along a road through the forest, where the overhanging 
 boughs of the trees gave them pleasant shade, they came to 
 
Slli A YMEIVS SKliVICK FO/l II ni). 8 1 
 
 a place where a bridle [)ath in the wootl joined tlie road, and 
 out of this bridle-path came a little band of horsemen. 'I'hcir 
 leader was a strong looking kni.(,'ht, no longer young, whose 
 sunburnt fiice, seamed with scars, showed that lie had seen 
 iouf,' service in war. But what made him differ from other 
 knights Sir Aymer had met, was the sign of the cross which 
 he bore upon his breast, on his shield, and even on the 
 cloak that lay upon his liorse's back. He bowed to Aymer 
 and reined his steed up beside him, saying that he knew 
 who he was, for he had seen him tilting before the king and 
 had heard of the vow he made when he was knighted. Then 
 he told the young knight that he was an ofticer in the service 
 of Duke Godfrey of BotUogne, who was raising a large army 
 to go to tho Holy Land. " There," he wont on to way, " is 
 the i)Iace to serve God, for the Moslems who worship the 
 l-'alse Prophet have taken the holy city, Jerusalem, and will 
 not even allow poor Christian pilgrims to see the place 
 where the .Son of God was laid. Come with us and win 
 back that holy sepulchre out of their wicked hands." 
 Aymer did not know as much about Jesus Christ as little 
 children do now, so he listened eagerly while the old soldier 
 spoke of Him and of the Jews that crucified Him, and the 
 Moslem Arabs and Turks who kept tlie land which His holy 
 feet had trod. And when he heard that this Jesus was God's 
 only and well-beloved Son whom He gave to the world to 
 save sinners, Sir Aymer wished that he had lived in the 
 Saviour's time, for then he would have seen God in His Son, 
 and have learned how to serve Him. Then he thought, or 
 else the knight told him, that he would be nearer God in the 
 Holy Land than in France, and that it would be good ser- 
 vice to fight against the enemies of His Son. So he told his 
 new-made friend that he would join Duke Godfrey's army at 
 
 6 
 
8a SIR AYMER'S SERVICE FOR GOB. 
 
 its place of muster, just before their roads parted. Then full 
 of this new thought he rode quickly towards his home. 
 
 Sir Aymer passed the days of his homeward journey in 
 a kind of dream, thinking ever of God and longing to see 
 His Son who had been, and if the old knight spoke truly, 
 still was a man like himself, only wiser, better, holier, God 
 as well as man. At length the castle upon the mountain 
 side facing the pleasant valley, came ..j view, and Aymer's 
 followers set up a shout when they saw it, so glad were 
 they to be home again. Sir Aymer remembered the time, 
 not very long ago, when he, too, would have shouted 
 with them like a school boy home for the holidays, but 
 now he had no home, no country, no king ; God was in 
 all his thoughts and to him was everything. The welcome 
 he got was a grand sight to see. All his father's tenants 
 and vassals and servants were out to meet him, for Aymer 
 had sent one of his men home as soon as he was knighted 
 to give his father the news. And the loyal soldier had 
 told the old nobleman that his son was the handsomest 
 and bravest of all that fought in the lists, that the king 
 had given him high praise, and that he had taken the 
 greatest vow of all who had ever been made knights. So 
 the good old father's heart was glad, and right proudly 
 did he and Marguerite await the coming of the honoured 
 one whom they loved the best. But Sir Aymer took no 
 notice of the kindly people who cheered him as he rode 
 on, or of the little girls and boys that strewed woodland 
 flowers along his path, or even of the grey-headed sttv/ard 
 who stood at the foot of the castle steps to bid him welcome. 
 He took his father's proud, loving embrace very coldly, and 
 kissed the fair Marguerite lightly on the brow. Everybody 
 thought that he was vain nd puffed up with his honours, so 
 
SIR A YMER'S SER VICE FOR GOD. 83 
 
 unlike was he to his old kindly generous self. But he was 
 not ; he was very humble ; he was thinking how he should 
 serve God, and only God. There was no place in his 
 heart for man or woman or child. 
 
 After his son had rested, the old nobleman questioned him 
 about his vow, and was glad when he heard that it was so 
 worthy a one and greater than all the vows made that day. 
 But when Sir Aymer began to say that he must get ready to 
 join Duke Godfrey's army and march against the Moslems, 
 the good father's heart grew sore and he replied : " No, no, 
 Aymer, you must stay with me. It will be only a little 
 while, for I am old and feeble, and then you must take care 
 of Marguerite." The tears came into Marguerite's eyes 
 too, but she brushed them away when she thought nobody 
 was looking and spoke bravely, though her voice trembled 
 just a little, "Can you not serve God at home, Aymer," 
 she said ; " there are so many poor and weak people that 
 need your kindness and your help? There are wolves 
 and bears and other wild beasts to kill, and robber bands 
 that will take away what the wild beasts leave, ii you are 
 not here to protect our villagers and husbandmen." Aymer 
 only laughed a little bitter laugh, which he did not mean to 
 be bitter, and said that young ladies could not be expected 
 to know what was the duty of a knight, and above all, of 
 a knight who had sworn to love and serve God, and Him 
 only. Then Marguerite blushed and said nothing more, but 
 went away to her little room to pray. Soon it was known 
 all over the castle and in the village and among the country 
 people, that Sir Aymer was going to the wars. The stout 
 young men who were tired of cutting down trees and holding 
 the plough were glad, and came to the castle to ask their 
 young lord to take them for his soldiers. But the old people 
 
84 Srn AYMER'S SERVICE FOR GOD. 
 
 and the weak ones and all the women and children came to 
 the old knight and Marguerite, and prayed them not to let 
 Sir Aymer go and take away their sons and brothers. All 
 their pleading was in vain. Sir Aymer said, " God wishes 
 it," and so he had his way. He led the young men into tho 
 armory and clothed them with arms and weapons, while tho 
 old people and the women went back to their homes 
 lamenting. 
 
 All too soon for many loving and sorrowing hearts came 
 the day of departure. Sir Aymer bade a cold farewell to 
 Marguerite, received his father's blessing, and rode away at 
 the head of a gallant company, proud to think that he was 
 able to lead so many soldiers to the holy war. As his horse's 
 hoofs were clattering down the village street, a woman ran to 
 meet him, crying through her tears, " Good Sir Aymer, my 
 child is lost; there are wild beasts in the mountains, and no 
 one left to search for him that can fight them. Stop, for the 
 love of God, and let the young men help me to find my 
 child." But Sir Aymer answered loftily, " My good woman, 
 I have greater work to do than to find lost children ; let the 
 old useless men attend to that." And so he rode away. 
 When he passed the long wood beyond the village he came to 
 a house in the fields, where another woman was standing at 
 the door. She, two, came out to meet him with tears in her 
 eyes, telling how her husband had been attacked by wild 
 boars when he had nothing to defend himself with, and, all 
 bruised and torn by their terrible tusks, had just managed to 
 crawl into the house where he now lay. She wanted Sir 
 Aymer to send one of his men to the castle for a doctor who 
 lived there, that he might come and heal the ugly wounds, 
 and besought him to do it for the love of God. " My soldiers 
 and I have a great work to do for God," he replied," and sick 
 
SIR A YMER'S SER VICE FOR GOD. 85 
 
 men must take care of themselves." On again went the troop, 
 the soldiers wondering what had happened to their young 
 captain. They came to another forest outside of Sir Aymer's 
 domain, in whose dark shades bands of robbers often lurked, 
 and as they passed through they heard a feeble voice calling 
 " Help, help, for the love of God." Some men-at-arms were 
 starting for the spot, when Sir Aymer called them back. 
 " We have no time," he said, " to heed every foolish cry. 
 God's work is of more importance than an old man's money." 
 A few days' journey brought Sir Aymer and his band to 
 the place of muster of which the weather-beaten knight had 
 told him, and there he took up his station in the great host 
 bound for the Holy Land. With many thousand knights and 
 thousand upon thousand men-at-arms, he marched through 
 many lands and crossed the little strip of sea that divides 
 Europe from Asia in the south. In the old lands of Asia 
 Minor and Syria he saw his comrades die in hundreds by 
 Turkish sabres and javelins, by hunger and thirst and the 
 fierce glare of a burning sky. Yet, still Duke Godfrey's army 
 moved forward, beating all the Moslem forces that tried to 
 bar the way, until at last it came to the walls of the Holy 
 City. For five long weeks the army fought before Jerusalem, 
 and then some brave soldiers climbed the high walls, drove 
 back the enemy and opened the gates. Duke Godfrey and 
 Sir Aymer and all the knights and captains rode in with 
 spear and sword and battle-axe. The Moslems could fight 
 no longe^.". They cried for mercy, but alas ! the Christian 
 knights, as they called themselves, thought nothing of the 
 merciful and loving Christ whose name they bore, but killed 
 all they met, as if the Arabs and Jews were wild beasts 
 instead of men and women with priceless souls. Sir Aymer's 
 heart was sick and sad wit*^ the dreadful sight, for he killed 
 
86 .!,/fl AYMER'S SERVICE FOR GOD. 
 
 no man in the city and would not let his own soldiers harm 
 the poor fugitives that crouched before them. Right glad 
 he was when sunset came and the army ceased its work of 
 slaughter ; when the savage warriors washed the blood from 
 their armour and went like a band of pilgrims to pray on 
 Calvary. 
 
 Sir Aymer found a large company praying in the Church of 
 the Holy Sepulchre, where it was said was the tomb in which 
 the body of Jesus once lay. Duke Godfrey was there kneeling 
 with the rest, and, when his prayer was ended and all the com- 
 pany was about to depart, each man to his quarters for the 
 night, he called Sir Aymer to him and gave the young knight 
 the honorable charge of guarding this sacred spot. Night fell, 
 and although there was noise enough in the city, all was quiet 
 in the church. Only one old priest was there, who went about 
 lighting some of the silver lamps that hung in the arches. 
 Outside, and just within the doors, could be heard the steady 
 tramp of Sir Aymer's sentinels, and he himself was lying upon 
 the paved floor, trying to sleep away his weariness. The old 
 priest was watching him, and when he saw that the knight 
 could not sleep, he came up to him and invited him to see the 
 place where the body of Jesus had lain. Sir Aymer i )se right 
 gladly and followed his guide, who led the way with a lighted 
 taper. Under the centre of the great dome they stopped, to 
 descend a stairway that led into a marble house. From the 
 roof of this narrow building lamps were hanging. The priest 
 lit one of these, and saying *' This is the holy place," left Sir 
 Aymer there. What thoughts passed through the young 
 man's mind of the great God whom he had vowed to love and 
 serve, and of God's Son who had walked in this very city of 
 Jerusalem, and had been crucified by wicked hands and laid 
 in this very tomb. " Oh ! if He would only come to me now, 
 
SIR AYMER'S SERVICE FOR GOD. 87 
 
 that in seeing Him I might learn how to love God ! " This 
 was Sir Aymer's prayer. And I suppose as he bent forward, 
 kissing the stone he thought so sacred, and forgetting all the 
 world in his desire to see its Saviour, his old weariness must 
 have come upon him and made him sleep. In his sleep he 
 saw a vision of angels clothed in white. One of them 
 touched him lightly saying, " Away, away, knight Aymer, 
 this is not the place to find the Son of God ; He is not here, 
 He is risen : why seek the living among the dead?" Then 
 the young knight arose and found that day had come, for 
 drums were beating and trumpets calling the scattered 
 soldiers to their posts. He returned to his old place in the 
 church, and soon after, with many other worshippers, Duke 
 Godfrey passed through the doors. Sir Aymer bowed low 
 to the Duke, whom many already called King of Jerusalem, 
 and said : "A boon, my lord ; if I have deserved any favour 
 from you." Godfrey answered, kindly : " There is no knight 
 deserves more at my hands than Sir Aymer ; what is the 
 boon ?" *' That I may leave the army and seek elsewhere 
 God and his Son whom I have sworn to love and serve," he 
 replied, " for the murders of yesterday have made this city 
 more like hell than the holy place where God dwells. I can- 
 not find Him here." The Duke was sorry to lose the brave 
 young knight, but he sighed as he thought how true vras his 
 saying, and wished him God-speed on his homeward journey. 
 Sir Aymer called his men at arms and told them he was 
 going back to France. Very few were left now of the gallant 
 company that three years before had sallied out of the castle 
 gates so full of hope. The rest had fallen on the battle-fields 
 and scorching plains of Asia Minor and Syria. Of those that 
 remained only three were willing to go home with their 
 young lord ; the others liked better to stay in Jerusalem in 
 
88 SIR A YMER'S SER VICE FOR GOD. 
 
 hopes of finding rich spoil to carry away in later years. So 
 their leader found service for them with a brave French 
 knight ; and then with his three companions set out on his 
 homeward way. There is no need to tell of his weary 
 journeys by land and sea. At last he reached Italy and 
 made his way into the region of the French Alp;. One 
 evening he and his companions halted in a quiet valley 
 called Chartreuse, and looked about them for some place 
 where they might spend the night. They saw a building 
 not far off, the only one in the valley, large and new looking, 
 and towards this they turned their steps. One of the men 
 knocked at the door, which was opened by a monk, who 
 invited Sir Aymer to enter. As he went in, the monk told 
 the knight that the building was a Carthusian monastery, 
 which had been founded by the Abbot Bruno fifteen years 
 before, and that the rule of the monastery was very strict. 
 But what was Sir Aymer's surprise Avlien his guide brought 
 him into the company of his brother monks, to find among 
 them his father's friend, the old priest who had spoken to 
 him at the court of the French king before he made his vow. 
 The monks were allowed to talk very seldom, for their time 
 was chiefly taken up with study and prayer and thinking 
 about God and holy things ; but this old brother, because 
 he was an old man, was granted more liberty than the rest. 
 So he gladly listened while Sir Aymer told his story of all 
 that had hajDpened to him since the day they parted, how 
 he had always tried to keep his vow, but had not found God 
 or His Son in the Holy Land, and how a vision of angels 
 at the Church of the Sepulchre had warned him away and 
 told him not to seek the living among the dead. Then the 
 old monk told him of his own quiet life of seeking and 
 serving God, and drew such a lovely picture in words of the 
 
SIR AYMER'S SERVICE FOR GOD. 89 
 
 quiet, pious life of the monastery with its prayers and read- 
 ing of the Bible and other good books, and above all its 
 long thoughts of God and heaven, that Sir Aymer, tired of a 
 busy fighting life and of weary wanderings, cried out, " Oh 
 that I might have such a time of blessed rest !" " Come," 
 answered the joyful monk, " and be one of us, for you have 
 already given up the world for God in your heart, and He 
 has promised to come to the humble and contrite and seek- 
 ing soul. Come, my son, and here fulfil your vow." 
 
 That night Sir Aymer listened to the monks singing their 
 beautiful evening hymn and heard their solemn prayer, and 
 when he lay down to sleep he felt as if he were resting in a 
 very holy place. When morning came his soldiers were 
 waiting for him with his horse saddled and ready to mount. 
 But he bade them take his horse back again to the stable 
 and go their own way to France, leaving him in the monas- 
 tery, for he was going to lead the holy life within its walls. 
 His faithful men-at-arms begged and entreated their master 
 to come with them, and spoke of their old lord, his father, 
 and the Lady Marguerite, who would be longing to see him 
 again. But he answered them " 'No, go your ways, and 
 may God bless you and them ; for me, I have given up the 
 world and all its vanities." So the brave fellows went away 
 with tears on their rough cheeks, and the old monk blessed 
 the young knight again. The monks took off Sir Aymer's 
 armour and hung it up, together with his helmet and shield, 
 his sword and spear, in their hall as a trophy that they had 
 gained from the world. His horse they kept for the con- 
 vent's use. And then they clothed him, who, a .moment 
 before, had been a proud warrior, in a rough shirt of hair- 
 cloth and a coarse black cloak, and led hini to his cell with 
 its bed of straw. For a year, they told him, he would be 
 
90 Srii A VMER'S HERVIGE FOR GOD 
 
 kept on trial, and then, if all was well, his name would be 
 changed and he would be admitted as a brother. Now 
 Aymer began to seek God and to try to serve him. All the 
 hard tasks were given to him to do because he was the 
 youngest in the convent. He had to chop wood, and 
 mend clothes, to sweep out rooms, and even cook, as if 
 he had been the meanest servant, but he never com- 
 plained. When his work was done, he prayed and studied 
 more earnestly than all the rest. So anxious was he to 
 please God that he put the roughest haircloth shirt he 
 could find next his skin and took the cloth covering off 
 his straw pallet, that he might not rest too easily at night. 
 So the months passed away in toil and weariness, for 
 Aymer slept so little and fasted and prayed and suffered 
 so much that he became pale and thin and weak. But 
 what did that matter to him if only he might see God. 
 
 One day iie found a book in the little library, written 
 on parchment by monkish hands. When he began to 
 read it he found that it was the story of God's Son, Jesus 
 Christ. It told him all about the Saviour's birth, and 
 miracles and preaching and sufferings and death. But 
 there was nothing in it about monasteries and the kind of 
 life he was leading. He read that Jesus told his scholars 
 to go and tell poor sinners how He came to save them, 
 and to do good as He did. What astonished him most of 
 all was the place where it said that if anybody wished 
 to serve Jesus he could do it by helping his poor friends, 
 the hungry and thirsty, the naked and homeless, the sick 
 and the prisoners ; for what was done to them for the 
 love of God was done to God Himself. And in another 
 place it was written, ** He that loveth not his brother whom 
 he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen." 
 
SIR AYMEWS SERVICE FOR GOD. 9Z 
 
 That night Sir Aymer confessed in prayer that he had not 
 
 loved his brother, that is, his fellow man, as he should have 
 
 done, and earnestly besought God to forgive him for the 
 
 sake of Jesus Christ, and to show him how he must love 
 
 and serve as he ought. And as he slept, there came to his 
 
 spirit another vision of an angel form that said, " Arise and 
 
 depart, for this is not your rest. The Lord Jesus did not 
 
 pray that His disciples should be taken out of the world, 
 
 but that thoy should be kept from the evil that is in it. 
 
 Go and do the works of Him whom God sent." Then he 
 
 arose long before it was day and went to the dining hall 
 
 where his armour was hanging. He took it down and 
 
 clothed himself once more like a knight. In the stable his 
 
 horse neighed joyously to see him, and after he had put on 
 
 its trappings and mounted, the faithful steed pranced about 
 
 in the gladness of freedom. It did Sir Aymer's heart good 
 
 to see the happiness of the dumb creature, and he thought 
 
 of God who clothes the flowers of the field and feeds the 
 
 merry birds that sing among the branches. But the Abbot 
 
 was very angry because the young brother was going away, 
 
 and the old monk wept bitter tears as he prayed him to 
 
 stay. The knight thanked them for their kindness in taking 
 
 him in, and answered their appeals by saying, " I must obey 
 
 God rather than man, for Him only I serve. Read God's 
 
 book and you will find that your's is not the best way to 
 
 serve Him." So he left the dreary walls and rode away 
 
 through the pleasant fields and forests towards France and 
 
 his father's house. 
 
 Now he seemed to see God or something of God every- 
 where. The green trees overhead and the little flowers 
 among his horse's feet, the scampering rabbits and the 
 warbling birds, the rippling brook and the leaping trout in 
 
99 SIR AYMEIVS SERVICE FOR GOD. 
 
 its clear water, all seemed to have voices, voices that sang 
 in many pleasant holy tones, " God is good." The sky 
 became dark with clouds, the pattering raindrops fell, the 
 lightning flashed, the thunder roared, the little brook was 
 troubled and swelled into a torrent, the birds ceased their 
 song ; all was gloomy and terrible. But Sir Aymer got off 
 his horse and kneeled upon the ground in prayer, for he saw 
 God's power in the storm, and thanked God with uncovered 
 head that He had made him able to know something of 
 His greatness, and to love Him and trust Him in tempest as 
 well as in sunshine. Soon the wind swept the clouds away 
 from the face of the heavens and the sun shone forth again 
 bright and clear, making a rainbow athwart the sky. The 
 trees and flowers lifted up their dewy heads more fresh and 
 beautiful than before, and never had the song of birds 
 seemed so sweet to Sir Aymer's ears as then. His heart was 
 overflowing with love and joy. For every traveller he met 
 he had a kindly word and pleasant smile, so that many a 
 humble peasant man and woman and many a child looked 
 back again as they passed the gentle knight who had bade 
 ''God be with them." That old father, how he longed to 
 see him and care for him in his old age ! And Marguerite, 
 his playmate of early days, would not be happier to welcome 
 him than he to be with her once more. " God be with 
 them," he prayed in the depth of his heal I as he thought 
 how cruelly he had treated them both w. en he left his 
 home. Alas for poor Sir Aymer, they were both with God. 
 And so he soon learned, for when he came into France, 
 which was not so large a country then as it is to-day, he met 
 one of his old soldiers on the way to seek his master, who 
 told him the sad news. The good old nobleman and his 
 gentle ward had died long weeks before j their bodies lay in 
 
SIR A YME/i'S SER VICE FOR GOD. 93 
 
 the tomb near the castle : their souls had gone in simple 
 trust to God; and Sir Aymer was alone in the world, 
 
 So Sir Aymer knew what grief is, and such terrible grief 
 as I hope may never darken your young hearts. He had 
 lost those on earth whom he loved the best, lost them when 
 he loved them most, and when ho longed to be loving and 
 helpful to them. They would never know how he looked 
 forward to be with them, nor hear his humble confession of 
 all the wrong he had done them in the past. His heart was 
 very heavy and sore, but not so heavy that he could not lift 
 it to God and pray for courage and strength and patience to 
 do His will and bear his burden. God sent His heavenly 
 comfort into the broken heart. Then Aymer knew that 
 his father and his playmate were with God, and there he 
 knew that he also some day would be, a thought which 
 made him glad amid his sorrow. On he rode alone, for his 
 old soldier whom he had met had gone elsewhere upon some 
 errand, on to the deserted castle which was now all his own. 
 He came to the dark wood outside of his domain, where 
 years before he had heard the cry for help. This time he 
 heard no voice, but as he passed through, his horse shied. 
 Sir Aymer looked down, and there on the grass at his right 
 lay the dead body of a man, a murdered man. He had 
 been dead some days ; the murderous thieves had stripped 
 him of half his clothes, and already the birds of prey had 
 been there making their loathsome feast. Sir Aymer started 
 whs n he saw the dead man's face, for it seemed to him that 
 he had seen it before, yet where or when he could not 
 recall. But he set to work to dig a grave for the body, 
 because it was the body of a brother, although he had 
 nothing but spear and sword with which to do the work. 
 With his sword he cut the turf, and with spear he pried out 
 
94 SIR A YMEli'S SEN VICE FOR GOD. 
 
 the stones. Both sword and spear were broken before the 
 task was ended, and then, wrapping the corpse in his cloak 
 marked with the cross, he laid it tenderly in the new-made 
 grave. At the head he sot up his shield, and at the foot the 
 I "Tients of his sword and spear to mark the place, and 
 thci. went forward on his way. 
 
 Ridhv ^" without sword or spear or shield, Sir Aymer 
 came into nis own lands. Here he was in the fields where 
 the woman had called to him for help to her wounded hus- 
 band. He saw the house out of which she came, and went 
 up to it, meaning to ask the woman if her husband had 
 recovered. But no answer came to his knock, and when he 
 went in he saw a sick man lying upon a pallet of straw who 
 faintly begged for water. The knight ran down to the 
 stream and, washing his helmet, filled it with pure water 
 and brought it to the fever-stricken patient who drank 
 eagerly. He opened his eyes, and again it seemed to Sir 
 Aymer that he had seen that face before. " Have you no 
 doctor to attend to you," he asked ; and the sick man 
 answered " No, but my neighbour would bring one to me if 
 he had a horse, for the leech lives far away." Then the 
 young knight went out and found a neighbour very like the 
 man who was ill, and gave him his horse that he might go 
 speedily and bring the doctor. But he contini jd his way 
 on foot to the castle, intending to send help from thence to 
 the sufferer. As he went on bareheaded, for he had 
 left his helmet full of water by the bedside, he came near 
 the village, and, on a stone by the wayside, saw a very 
 little child, a mere baby, crying bitterly. The little child 
 could only say that it was lost. Sir Aymer took the babe 
 in his arms and soothed it with kind words. Nobody met 
 him in the village. It seemed deserted. He climbed up 
 
SIR AYMEJVS SERVICE FOR OOD. 95 
 
 the hill to the castle, and that seemed deserted too. In he 
 went, however, for the doors were open, and, passing through 
 many halls and passages, came to what used to be his own 
 room. On his own bed he laid the baby, and sang it to 
 sleep with a gentle lullaby, putting his own gold chain round 
 its neck to play with, as it sank into a pleasant slumber. 
 Then, while the little child rested, he too, overcome by all 
 the labours of the day, too much for his feeble frame to bear, 
 laid his head beside the child, and with a prayer to God fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Daylight streamed in through the windows, and Sir Aymer 
 awoke, but the child was gone. The servants of the house 
 had come back, hearing of his arrival, and answered his call ; 
 but none of them had seen the babe, and all thought that 
 the poor wasted knight was not in his right mind. He sent 
 them, for he was too weak to go himself, to carry food to 
 the sick man, and to ask if the kind neighbour had found 
 the doctor, and to bury the dead oody in the wood as it 
 should be buried, and bring back his shield. A long time 
 they were away, but when they returned they said they could 
 find no sick man, no neighbour with the knight's horse, no 
 buried body in the dark wood. Then Sir Aymer marvelled 
 whether they were mad or he, and going to his room he 
 prayed God to make plain the mystery. Then, for he was 
 very weak and weary, he lay d own upon his bed and went 
 to sleep. In this last sleep there came a vision of angels. 
 One bore a robe of dazzling brightness, saying " there is 
 your soldier's cloak ;" another, a golden girdle, saying " this 
 is the chain that pleased the child ;" another, a crown of 
 many precious stones, saying " this is the helmet that 
 moistened the sick man's lips ;" and still another came who 
 stood by a chariot of glory, crying, " behold your steed that 
 
96 SIR AVMER'S SERVICE FOR GOD. 
 
 shall carry you heavenwards." And then a kind, sweet 
 loving face, bearing the marks of human sorrow and sadness 
 the same face he had seen in the dead, the sick, the lost, 
 but glorified ten thousand fold, bent above him ; a voice 
 soft and gentle and tender said •'! have come to your 
 prayers Knight Aymer. Forasmuch as you have done it 
 unto one of the least of these ray brethren, you have done it 
 unto me. Enter into the joy of your Lord." So the Lord 
 kissed Sir Aymer, and with that kiss his soul went up to 
 God in Paradise. His servants came in the morning and 
 found him dead, with a holy smile upon his lips, and the 
 far off look in his eyes of the pilgrim that seeks his home. 
 
 When we learn the true value of the world and the glory 
 and goodness of God, we turn away from earthly things and 
 seek God with all our hearts. God is in all our thoughts* 
 but many of these thoughts may be very wrong, because 
 they are born of ignorance. Where is the Christian boy or 
 girl who has not longed to do some great thing for God •' 
 Where is there one who has not wished to have lived in the 
 days of Jesus Christ and in his country, that he might have 
 laid down life for His blessed sake. How indignation against 
 His betrayers and murderers and against the foes of the 
 church in all ages has filled even youthful souls with what 
 they thought was zeal, but what was in large part a spirit of 
 revenge and hatred, quite unlike the spirit of the meek and 
 lowly Jesus ! In early Christian days the desire to do some 
 great thing for God sometimes led to useless martyrdoms, 
 and, in the later, to cruel persecutions and ungodly wars. 
 " Though I give my body to be burned and have not charity 
 it profiteth me nothing." But how shall we find God and 
 
SIR AYMER'S SERVICE FOR OOD. 97 
 
 serve Him ? Shall we leave the world and, being alone with 
 God, come nearer to Him in heart and render Him a more 
 acceptable service ? No, for first we cannot get away from 
 our sinful human nature in any place on earth, nor is it 
 God's will that we should leave the world. "These are in 
 the world," said Jesus, " and I come to Thee — I pray not 
 that thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that 
 thou shouldest keep them from the evil." In the days of 
 His earthly life Jesus was found in towns and cities, and in 
 them did most of His mighty works. So, now that He is 
 exalted, though He is to be found by those who do their 
 duty in quiet retreats, His more nearly felt presence is where 
 the multitudes need His help. How shall we serve Him ? 
 He is the great healer. We can serve and follow Him by 
 healing. He is the first comforter. We shall tread in His 
 footsteps by comforting. He still goes forth to seek and to 
 save the lost. In seeking them and in trying to save them, 
 we shall come face to face with our Lord and Saviour. 
 Then, at last, when we shall say, " Lord, when saw we 
 thee an hungred and fed Thee ? or thirsty and gave thee 
 drink ? When saw we thee a stranger and took thee in } or 
 naked, and clothed thee ? Or when saw we thee sick or in 
 prison, and came unto thee ? the king will answer and say, 
 Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 
 of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." 
 
 :^-' 
 
 - •^"^^•^^ ■'^ V ^ -. . .. . »g»...,^-:.-rj^:.^=^. .^,_,^pp^ 
 
VI. 
 
VI. 
 
 $lxc ^UQitim ot the ^mttlt M^ms. 
 
 "Thus saith the Lord, even the captives of the mighty shall 
 be taken away and the prey of the terrible shall be delivered." — 
 Isaiah xlix. 25. 
 
 Far away in the Southern Ocean lies the beautiful island 
 Tahiti. As you approach it you imagine there are two 
 islands instead of one, but coming nearer you perceive that 
 the two are joined by a narrow neck. On one side of the 
 neck the island is almost perfectly round and twenty miles 
 wide every way, but on the other side it stretches out 
 into an oblong, sixteen miles in length and eight in 
 breadth. The centre of each of these peninsulas or half 
 islands is full of mountains, covered, like the valleys and 
 passes between them, with every kind of tropical tree and 
 shrub. From the base of the mountains to the sea, a 
 distance of two or three miles, the land is level, the soil 
 rich and abounding in bread fruit and cocoanut trees, 
 with plantations of yams and taro roots and other plants 
 that are good for food. In the old days, long before white 
 men came in their great ships to visit the islands of the 
 South Seas, and even before some of the islands had been 
 heaved up from the depths of the ocean by volcanic fires, 
 there reigned a mighty monarch in Tahiti, named Taaroa. 
 He had the best right . to rule there, for it was he who 
 had called the island up from its watery bed, and all the 
 
102 THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 
 
 people who dwelt in it were his children. These people 
 were brown of skin and black haired, but the men were 
 tall and lithe and strong and handsome as many of their 
 descendants are to-day, and the women were graceful in 
 form and beautiful in feature. Sickness was not known 
 among them. No thieves passed through the ever open 
 doorways to steal. No wild beasts lurked among the. moun- 
 tains to devour. The earth brought forth almost without 
 man's help all that was needed for daily food. The bamboo 
 furnished wood for house-building, and its large joints, hollow 
 above and below, could be made with little trouble into 
 vessels for eating and drinking. The women wove long 
 grass and fibres into mats of varied colours and tasteful 
 patterns, and made delicate native cloth by beating thin 
 the inner bark of the mulberry tree. Peace reigned 
 throughout the happy island. In their songs the people 
 tell even now how the king sat in justice and kindness on 
 his great stone seat, while the spreading roots of the bread 
 fruit trees were shaved off clean on the paths and polished 
 with pumice stone from the mountains ; how all the men 
 were strong, the women beautiful and the children good, 
 with nought to trouble their rest or make them ai lid. 
 
 King Taaroa reigned over Tahiti, but that island was 
 only one and a small one among his many possessions. 
 North and south, east and west, his empire extended. 
 There is hardly an island even now in the southern seas 
 in which his name is not known, either as Taaroa or Taaloa, 
 Tangaroa or Tangaloa. His servants brought him tribute 
 from the rugged mountain islets and the low coral strands, 
 from the homes of the tufted haired blacks and those of the 
 sleek, oily yellow and red men. At Manuka, in the far west, 
 his beloved son Karika stationed his fleet of great canoes, 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 103 
 
 which swept over every sea, exploring new lands and 
 bringing all into subjection to the Tahitian king. But 
 there was another fleet besides that of Karika, which often 
 appeared off the shores of Tahiti, though it never landed 
 on any beach. The islanders saw it, but did not fear, 
 because they knew of nothing wrong, and saw no reason 
 why this strange fleet should do them harm. Still they 
 were anxious to know who the men were that manned its 
 many canoes, and why they had never set foot on their 
 king's domain. Now the chief man on the island after the 
 king was Tangiia, a brave, handsome and wise prince, into 
 whose care Taaroa had given almost everything and every- 
 body in Tahiti. There was one thing that Taaroa would 
 not give him. It was a huge bread fruit tree which 
 towered to a great height above the others round about it, 
 and then, spreading widely on every side, displayed far out 
 of reach its strange flowers in sheaths or naked catkins and 
 its large round fruits, which on this particular tree were of 
 every brilliant colour. Now, just because he could not 
 get it, this great tree was what Tangiia most desired. It 
 grew on a point near the sea shore, a point often passed by 
 the strange fleet which had excited the people's curiosity. 
 Many a time did Tangiia go down to that point and look up 
 at the glowing fruit so far out of his reach. 
 
 One day Tangiia was standing by the beach looking up 
 at the tabooed tree, for so it was called, since all that the 
 king kept for himself was known as taboo or forbidden. As 
 he was looking longingly towards the great coloured globes 
 shining in the sunlight, the strange fleet appeared, and for a 
 moment remained motionless in the calm, blue water just 
 before him. A large, dark looking, ill-featured man sat in 
 the stern of the principal canoe, and although Tangiia did 
 
104 THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 
 
 not like his looks, he called out, " Who are you, and why do 
 you not land on this island !" The dark man laughed a 
 harsh, grating laugh, and answered, " Eat the fruit of that 
 beautiful tree and you will find out who I am, and, more 
 than that, when you have eaten I will land on the island 
 and be king instead of Taaroa. So saying, the dark, name- 
 less man went on his way and Tangiia was left alone. Now 
 a fierce desire possessed him to taste the luscious looking 
 fruit, so that his mind had room for no other thought. He 
 could not reach the fruit nor could he climb the tree, for 
 many thick and wide spreading branches stood in the way. 
 So he hastened home and got his axe. He saw Taaroa on 
 the road as he returned, but stepped away out of sight 
 among the bushes for fear he should be stopped and ques- 
 tioned. He had never been afraid before, but now he trem- 
 bled in every limb as he looked about to see that nobody 
 was watching him. Then he came to the tree and began to 
 chop. To his delight the trunk was soft and green, so 
 that his axe made no noise and sank deep into the wood at 
 every blow. Yet so thick was it that more than an hour 
 passed before he reached the centre. A few cuts on the op- 
 posite side towards the water made the tall stem shiver, and, 
 after a few more, it began to bend towards the sea. As it 
 gradually inclined its lofty head Tangiia caught the fruit 
 within his grasp and put it eagerly to his lips, tearing away 
 the outer shell with his teeth. Alas for the deluded man, it 
 was full of ashes and bitterness. He tossed it away in 
 disgust and repented of the wickedness he had done, but it 
 was too late. In another moment the giant stalk broke 
 asunder and, with a crash that shook the island like an 
 earthquake, it fell to the ground. 
 Tangiia stood rooted to the spot. Soon a mocking laugh 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 10$ 
 
 aroused him and there, no longer in his canoe, but standing 
 on the solid ground, was the dark man who had advised him 
 to eat the fruit of the now fallen tree. " You wished to 
 know who I am, he said ; I am the great Tutabu, once the 
 servant but now the enemy of Taaroa. I have landed 
 because you have driven Taaroa away by your brave action, 
 and now I can be king of Tahiti and your lord and master. 
 Carry me to the great stone seat and tell all the people that 
 I am their new king." Hardly knowing what he did, 
 Tangiia took the rebel Tutabu on his shoulders and carried 
 him towards the great stone seat, followed by the rebel's 
 servants, who had left their canoes on the beach and came 
 after their master with horrid yells and shouts of war. 
 When the stone seat was reached, Tangiia saw that Taaroa 
 had indeed gone, and far over the sea he noticed a large 
 white canoe skimming the surface of the water. In that 
 canoe he knew that Taaroa was journeying to the west. 
 But the people had gone also. They had heard the fall of 
 the great bread fruit tree and had seen the departure of 
 ■# Taaroa, and their blood had curdled at the sound of the 
 shouts and yells made by Tutabu's followers. So in a 
 body they had left their homes and fled for safety to the 
 mountains. When Tangiia saw the desolate empty homes 
 of his people he uttered a terrible cry and tried to shake his 
 • new master from his shoulders, but Tutabu clung to him all 
 the tighter and drove his knees into the poor man's sides 
 and kicked him so, that Tangiia, who had never before felt 
 pain, was very sore. " Remember," said the wicked Tutabu, 
 " that it is useless to try to get away from me. The only 
 one who could deliver you is now your enemy, because you 
 have disobeyed his orders. My orders I will take good 
 care that you shall never disobey." So he called some of 
 
I06 THE FUGITIVt: OF THE SOVTlf SEAS. 
 
 his servants to him and gave Tangiia into their care with in- 
 structions to bind him with thongs while he sat like a king 
 upon Taaroa's throne. So the guards laid hold of the cap- 
 tive prince and led him away to the base of the mountains, 
 because a tree grew there whose bark was tough and supple 
 as a leathern thong. From this tree they stripped the bark 
 and prepared to bind their prisoner hand and foot. 
 
 While Tutabu was sitting on Taaroa's throne and giving 
 himself out for King of Tahiti, and while his servants were 
 preparing to bind Tangiia, who had brought mischief to the 
 island by his folly and wickedness, the true king was sailing 
 over the ocean to the west. Soon he arrived at Manuki, 
 and there he was met by his son Karika and the great fleet 
 he commanded. " My son," said Taaroa, '* I have left 
 Tahiti because Tangiia has brought rebellion into the island, 
 and will soon make all the people rebels in heart. Tutabu 
 has heard of my absence and has taken possession of the 
 kingdom and people. But I still love Tangiia, though he is 
 a rebel, and wish to save him. Will you help me ?" Then 
 Karika answered *' My father, your wish is my wish, and 
 your heart my heart ; my ships are your ships, and my war- 
 riors your warriors. Send me where you will." So Taaroa 
 told Karika to go into the south and find a new home for 
 Tangiia and his people ; then to return in the direction of 
 Tahiti and meet the rebels and bring them to their new 
 home. " And I," said Taaroa, " will go to Bolotoo and 
 from thence will send help to Tangiia, that he may escape 
 from Tutabu." So Karika called his canoemen and warriors 
 together and embarked with them in the fleet and sailed 
 away into the south towards the distant island of Raratonga. 
 And Taaroa went away like a flash of light in his canoe, that 
 glided over the waters without sail or paddle, to the won- 
 
Tin: FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH .SEAS. IO7 
 
 drous island of Bolotoo in the north-west, an island that no 
 living man has ever seen without bidding farewell to all the 
 world boside. There he prepared help against the call of 
 his disobedient servant Tangiia, whom he yet loved with a 
 very great love. 
 
 Now let us go back to Tahiti. There is Tutabu on the 
 great stone seat, giving himself out for king of all the world, 
 and there is Tangiia in the hands of this monster's servants, 
 waiting to be bound. He hears a flutter of wings and looks 
 upward. Just above him hovers a wood-pigeon, a beautiful 
 creature, whose feathery coat is all ablaze with vivid ever- 
 changing metallic hues. It has something in its beak like a 
 little fruit. Tangiia gazes in astonishment and with mouth 
 wide open at this strange witness of the cruel scene in which 
 he is a victim ; and as he gazes open-mouthed, the tiny fruit 
 falls between his lips sweet as honey, cool and refreshing as 
 the cold spring waters. Then the bird flies back towards 
 Bolotoo. The servants of Tutabu have seen nothing of this. 
 They have been so busy with the thongs and are so satisfied 
 that their prisoner is too weak to resist them, that they have 
 not taken the trouble to watch his every movement. And 
 he was weak a moment ago, that great strong man that used 
 o be ; but he is not weak now, for that little fruit has put 
 great strength into his heart, and the heart has made the 
 body strong as well. They begin to bind him, but he snaps 
 the thongs asunder, scatters his persecutors right and left, 
 and, while they are calling for Tutabu to come to their help, 
 he darts away and flees to the mountains whither his family 
 and all his people are gone. 
 
 Next day a great chase began. Tutabu was exceedingly 
 angry to find that Tangiia had got away for the present, but 
 he was sure of capturing him and all his people in the end, 
 
108 THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS, 
 
 for there was no way of escape from the island. Collecting 
 all his followers he set out over the mountains. Tangiia 
 meanwhile had found his friends and had made preparations 
 in case of pursuit. His sentinels, posted upon high ridges of 
 rock that seemed to touch the clouds, spied the host of 
 Tutabu approaching and gave the alarm. Then the fugitives 
 went on to higher ranges and over ravines and water-courses 
 and into caverns that opened out upon the shore, but always 
 with Tutabu close behind them. They could hear his voice 
 at times calling out " Who cut down the great bread-fruit 
 tree ? Who disobeyed Taaroa ? Let him not think to 
 escape from me, for Taaroa will not help him." So they 
 went on through the length and breadth of the island, 
 Tangiia and his party fleeing in terror, and Tutabu with his 
 followers pressing close upon their footsteps. At length the 
 fugitives became very weary, for there were many old people 
 and women and children among them, while Tutabu's party 
 was composed entirely of fighting men. Tangiia stood in 
 despair by the shore at the western end of Tahiti, surrounded 
 by a company of terror stricken men and weeping women 
 and helpless children. They could do nothing more, and 
 close behind them, so that their wild shouts and even the 
 cruel words they spoke could be heard, came the dreaded 
 Tutabu. Then Tangiia cried in despair " O Taaroa, if you 
 were only here, this evil being would have no power to harm 
 your children. Will you not save us ?" And lo I at that 
 very moment a great canoe, carried in the air by myriads of 
 brilliant feathered pigeons, descended from the west towards 
 the shore, with out-riggers and paddles and masts and strong 
 mat-sails all complete. The birds left it there half in the water, 
 and, rising like a cloud of green and crimson and gold into 
 the air, they uttered their cooing note of peace and gentle- 
 ness, and flew away to Bolotoo from whence they had come. 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 109 
 
 Quick as thought Tangiia ran to the canoe and his people 
 with him. The children and women and old men were got 
 in. Then the young men stood on either side, the outer- 
 most above their waists in the water, and, at a call from 
 Tangiia, they slid the huge boat into the sea, clambered over 
 the gunwales, and worked the smooth well-made paddles 
 with a will. Tutabu rushed down to the beach and shook 
 his fist towards them in helpless rage, while his followers 
 howled in doleful company. But Tutabu had canoes, 
 though they were some distance away, and, as Tangiia's party 
 looked back, they saw the dark-faced rebel leading his men 
 towards the fleet. So they paddled with all their might, and 
 when the breezes blew morning and evening hoisted their 
 slender masts and mat-sails and ran before the wind. The 
 canoe seemed almost to steer itself in a north-westerly direc- 
 tion towards Bolotoo. It made rapid progress, and very 
 soon its occupants came to Huahine, an island a hundred 
 miles from Tahiti, and something like it in appearance, 
 though very much smaller. The fleet of Tutibu was no- 
 where in sight, so Tangiia and his people landed and began 
 at once to prepare their dwellings and gather food. That 
 evening they ate and drank in peace, and through the night 
 enjoyed a pleasant sleep, but when morning came the watch- 
 men on the hills gave the alarm, and, hastily gathering a 
 supply of fruit, the party re-embarked, for the avenger was 
 on their track and not far behind them. 
 
 Away again over the sea went tTie great canoe. All were 
 refreshed with food and rest, so that the paddlers worked 
 vigorously and soon put a long distance between their vessel 
 and the pursuing fleet. This time the canoe went straight 
 to the west, and, in a much shorter space than it had taken 
 to come from Tahiti to Huahine, it reached another some- 
 
1 1 THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 
 
 what larger island of the same monntainous character and 
 beautiful aspect, called Raiatea. Again, because the enemy 
 was nowhere to be seen, Tangiia landed, and with his peo- 
 ple prepared to make a new home. But their respite was 
 very brief, for before the mats were laid for the night's res<^ 
 the fleet of Tutabu appeared in the east, and all was hurry 
 and confusion to get back into the ship. All that night they 
 paddled and sailed northwards in hopes of putting their 
 enemies off the track. They passed Tahaa by, because it 
 offered no shelter and next day saw Porapora. The sea 
 had become very rough, and they were afraid lest their ves- 
 sel, large as it was, should be swamped by the surging 
 waves or dashed to pieces against the rocks. But as they 
 came nearer, they found that Porapora was a little rocky 
 island in the centre of a wide basin of calm water. A circu- 
 lar coral reef surrounded this basin, and against this reef the 
 huge waves expended their force in vain. Then they watched 
 the fish and saw that, while some of the flying fish darted on 
 the crests of the waves over the low lying parts of the reef, 
 great shoals crowded into a narrow opening. Towards that 
 opening they turned the bow of the canoe in faith that there 
 was a channel there, and happily their faith was just, for 
 after two or three great breakers had lifted the vessel high 
 in the stern and made the fugitives fear that their end had 
 come, the boat slid into the calm, quiet water, in whose 
 transparent depths they could behold with pleasure and rest- 
 ful hearts all the wonders'of the sea. 
 
 Here then Tangiia and his companions determined to 
 stay. So while some of the young men built their bamboo 
 huts and helped the women to gather roots and fruits for 
 food, he and the rest collected great stones and carried them 
 in the canoe to the opening in the reef. Load after load 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. Ill 
 
 they carried until they had filled up the breach, and rejoiced 
 to see the wild waves dashing over their wall just as they 
 did over the solid reef itself. Now the poor hunted Ta- 
 hitians had no fear. They ate and drank and were merry. 
 They slept that night without sentinels, and when the morning 
 came and they looked out upon the sea, they were rather 
 glad than otherwise to behold the fleet of Tutabu approach- 
 ing. On came the fleet. Tutabu was there at the prow of 
 the foremost canoe, already exulting in the thought that he 
 had got his enemies into a net from which there was no 
 escape. As he saw the people standing quietly upon the 
 shore, he imagined that they were too much exhausted to 
 make any further efforts, and that they intended to submit 
 to his authority. But when he came near the reef he was 
 foiled. He could not remove the barrier wall, for the great 
 waves would have dashed his canoes to pieces in the 
 attempt. Yet he would not give up his prey. Part of his 
 fleet he sent back to Tahaa for provisions, and with the rest 
 he sailed round and round the reef, looking in vain for some 
 opening into the lagoon. Tangiia and his friends rejoiced. 
 They shouted across the lagoon and the reef at their highest 
 pitch of voice, taunting their enemies and asking why 
 they did not come on and make them their slaves. Tu- 
 tabu ground his teeth with rage and waited. 
 
 Next day a great storm came on from the south, toss- 
 ing the pursuing canoes so violently with the force of 
 winds and waves that Tangiia expected to see them sink or 
 break into shivers on the reef. But Tutabu was a cunning 
 sailor. He made for the northern side of the reef and lay 
 there quietly. Soon the storm went down, as suddenly as it 
 had arisen. Then returning to his former position, he saw 
 to his great joy that the storm had done what he could not 
 
ria THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 
 
 accomplish. It had swept Tangiia's rocks out of the breach 
 as if they had been sea shells or pumice stone. Stealthily 
 his canoes passed through the opening, one by one, his own 
 leading the way. The followers of Tangiia were asleep, for 
 it was early morning when Tutabu entered the lagoon. In 
 a moment they awoke with terror, for the awful shouts and 
 yells of their enemies were in their very ears. Hastily 
 they started to their feet and made for the shore, but not 
 before many of them had fallen by blows of murderous club 
 and spear, and others had been bound and made prisoners. 
 Tangiia escaped, and with the rest of his people fled to the 
 ship. With desperate strength, though diminished in num- 
 bers, they pushed it off from the beach, where it had lain 
 high and dry in the hope that it would never be needed 
 again. They heard the dreadful cries of their wounded and 
 imprisoned companions, but dared not stay to help them 
 iest they should meet with the same fate. Away through 
 the broken reef they sped, paddling with all their might, 
 and after them in hot pursuit went Tutabu and his fiendish 
 warriors. 
 
 On to the west the great canoe skimmed over the waters. 
 The terrible cries and wailings of their companions still rang 
 in the ears of the paddlers, and made them work with all 
 their might. After a long and weary voyage, which taxed 
 their strength to the utmost, another island like that they 
 had left, but much smaller, came in sight. It was Maupiti, 
 and it, too, had a barrier reef and a quiet lagoon within. 
 Into this lagoon Tangiia steered the ship, and once more he 
 and his comrades sought rest on solid land. Thi? time they 
 did not attempt to bar the way. Instead, they kept watch 
 by turns, and when they rested it was like soldiers ready to 
 move as soon as the drum should beat or the bugle blow. 
 
THE FUaiTIVE OF THE SO UTH SEAS. 1 1 3 
 
 But they did not simply watch. They also worked, for a 
 bright thought came into Tangiia's mind, and that thought 
 was a scheme to put Tutabu off his course. He had looked 
 to the north from a high point of land, and had seen an 
 island there ; to the west, and in that direction had seen 
 two or three ; while in the east, from which he had come, 
 they were very numerous. But away in the south there was 
 no land visible. So Tangiia determined to fill the empty 
 space of the great ship with provisions for a long voyage, 
 and to trust himself and his companions on the open sea. 
 So, great stores of breadfruit and cocoanuts, with many 
 other roots and fruits such as the taro and the banana, 
 were collected and stowed carefully away under planks and 
 mats that would shield them from the heat of the sun. 
 Water casks were made out of the hollow joints of bam- 
 boos and sections of the trunks of larger trees out of which 
 the pith could be easily removed, and these were filled 
 with fresh water from the clear cold island springs. Tur- 
 tles also were caught and laid on their backs where they 
 could not move, waiting for the appetites of their captors ; 
 and grass nets, lines made of fibrous roots, bone fish hooks, 
 and long, barbed fish spears were prepared to furnish the 
 little company with food on the way from among the 
 flying fish and other wandering tribes of the sea. Flat 
 stones, suitable for a hearth and oven, were put on board 
 the ship, so that the fugitives might cook their meals, even 
 while they were out upon the ocean fleeing before their 
 enemies. 
 
 Still Tangiia waited. He hoped that Tutabu would give 
 up the chase and go back to rule over Tahiti with his wild 
 servants. But Tutabu had no thought of giving up the 
 pursuit. He was a hunter of men and cared nothing for 
 
 8 
 
114 '< THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 
 
 the beauties of Tahiti without the people who had once 
 been happy there. Just as soon as Tangiia had finished 
 his preparations, one of the men on the lookout cried, 
 *' Here comes the fleet." And so it was. Tutabu and his 
 followers appeared in sight, and their canoes were being 
 paddled in great haste with the intention of cutting off the 
 retreat of the fugitives. Tangiia at once called his people 
 together. They entered the large ship and paddled out of 
 the lagoon before Tutabu's eyes. Then, to his great amaze- 
 ment and annoyance, instead of going to the north or west, 
 the Tahitians directed their course southward into the 
 •trackless sea. Tutabu had no provisions and dared not 
 follow them. He had to land upon Maupiti to refresh 
 his hungry, thirsty and tired warriors, and while he was 
 doing this the great canoe sailed far into the south. The 
 rebel chief knew, however, that by sailing to the west he 
 would fall in with a chain of islands that would bring 
 him also to the south by easy stages, and in this way he 
 determined that he would, in the long run, come up with 
 those who had baulked him again and again. So after 
 he had staid a short time on Maupiti he went to sea 
 and made his course westward and southward by Mo- 
 pelia and Aitutaki. 
 
 There was great joy in Tangiia's company. The weather 
 was fine, the seas calm, the breezes gentle and soothing. 
 They had all the food they needed, and their vessel was 
 large enough to allow of their sitting, lying, standing or 
 even walking about at ease. Day after day they looked 
 out to the north, but their eyes saw nothing of their 
 dreaded enemy. Neither did they see any land, but often 
 they saw land birds flying overhead and stray turtles on 
 their way to distant islands, and once they were terrified 
 
THE FUGITIVE OF THE SO UTH SEAS. 1 1 5 
 
 with the sight of an enormous lizard basking on the top 
 of the waves in the sun. It was a wandering crocodile, 
 all the way from the Indian seas. These told them that 
 land could not be very far away. One morning Tangiia 
 rose from his couch of mats refreshed with pleasant sleep 
 and rejoicing in the feeling of safety that had been grow- 
 ing day by day upon him and his people. As he was 
 taking his morning repast of fruit he heard a sound of 
 wings overhead, and looking up saw a large flock of 
 pigeons, the very same, it seemed to him, that had brought 
 the great canoe upon their brilliant backs from Bolotoo. 
 They greeted his gaze with their cooing notes so full of 
 peace and affection that Tangiia thought they had come to 
 say how glad they were that he had escaped from his 
 enemy. Away went the shining flock into the south, and 
 his eyes somehow were compelled to follow. But what is 
 it he sees there besides the doves that makes him start and 
 that sends paleness even into his tawny cheeks? It is a 
 fleet of great canoes, each one larger than his own. Can 
 Tutabu have found his way down there so quickly, and if 
 it is he, from whence has he got these large vessels ? No, 
 it cannot be Tutabu. What will he do ? He turns to his 
 people all awake and gazing with terror in their eyes in 
 the same direction. He asks them "What shall we do?" 
 To go back is to fall into the hands of Tutabu and his 
 cruel servants. To go forward is to become the prey of 
 this new enemy. 
 
 The boatmen cannot paddle either way in their fear. The 
 canoe lies like a log in the calm sea. There is weeping and 
 wringing of hands among the women and the feeble ones. 
 But nobody dares to give advice. They stay where they are 
 waiting for their fate. Quickly the great fleet skims over the 
 
1 16 THE FUGITIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 
 
 water. The fugitives can see the crews of the canoes, and 
 watch the strong quick strokes of the paddlers, and in the 
 stern of the foremost vessel, seated upon a throne on the 
 lofty poop, they behold one who must be a very great chief, 
 so grand and majestic is his air, and so rich his feathered 
 cloak of every glancing hue. " It is Karika !" says one and 
 another of the fugitives, as they remember what Tangiia has 
 done in the realm of his father, Taaroa. Then they hide 
 their heads in their mantles and wait for death. Now 
 Karika's canoe comes alongside. In a moment the padd- 
 lers hold the water, and in another the two canoes are lashed 
 together with thongs. Then Tangiia finds heart and voice 
 in his despair. " My lord Karika," he cries, " we are your 
 captives ; all that we are and all that we have is yours, for 
 we flee from your enemy and our enemy, the demon Tutabu. 
 Better that we should fall into your hands than into his." 
 All the people find their voices too and join their prayers 
 and promises with much weeping and lamentation to those 
 of Tangiia. Then Karika waves his hand to the warriors, 
 who stand with one foot in their own canoe and the other on 
 the gunwale of Tangiia's, ready to strike with sword and 
 spear. At once they lower their weapons, and wait their 
 chiefs command. " Do you speak truly, Tangiia," he asks : 
 '* would you not escape from me if you could, and do harm 
 to my father's dominions again?" Then Tangiia answers, 
 " My lord Karika, it is impossible to escape from you, for is 
 not the very ship in which we have fled from our great 
 enemy a gift from the land of Bolotoo, that no man has seen, 
 and over which your father rules, against whom I have 
 sinned ? Receive me and my people as your servants for 
 ever." So saying he bowed his head before Karika till it 
 reached the gunwale beneath that great chief's feet; but 
 
TIIE FUGITIVE OF THE SO UTII SEA S. 1 1 7 
 
 Karika bent down, took the penitent man by the hand, and 
 lifted him up. '* Be faithful," he said, " and all will be 
 well." 
 
 At a signal from Karika, thirty-nine strong rowers left 
 his warship and took their places in Tangiia's canoe, and 
 twenty-seven gentle, kindly servants, laden with provisions 
 and comforts for old and young, followed them. The warm, 
 ill-tasting water in the casks from Maupiti, with the decay- 
 ing fruit and hardened cocoanuts they threw overboard, and 
 fed the now joyful fugitives with fresh food pleasant to the 
 taste, and gave them water to drink, cool and limpid as that 
 from mountain spring?}. All that day the people rested and 
 feasted while the thirty-nine rowers and twenty-seven ser- 
 vants attended to all the wants of the ship, and made it rise 
 and fall gaily over the gently heaving waves. Karika was 
 ever alongside of them in his great canoe, and all round 
 about them were the vessels of his mighty fleet. On to the 
 west they journeyed together, and came after some days to 
 the island which Karika had prepared for the rebellious 
 servant of his father, the beautiful island of Raratonga. 
 Tangiia saw with delight the spacious and safe harbours, the 
 green shady shores, the ranges of mountams towering one 
 above the other towards the sky, and the lovely valleys 
 among them, every one of which was like a glimpse of a 
 fairy world. Here the fleet halted and the crews landed. 
 The followers of Karika worked with Tangiia's people not 
 in putting up mere tents for a few days stay, but solid and 
 substantial houses to last for many long years. But Tangiia 
 and his people had the special honour of building a house 
 for Karika. In doing this they spared no pains, for had 
 they not surrendered themselves with all their strength and 
 possessions to that gracious chief. Then the land was por- 
 
1 1 8 THE FUaiTI VE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 
 
 tioned out and the work of cultivation began. Tangiia 
 dwelt on one side of the island and Karika on the other. 
 Part of the time Karika's people worked for Tangiia, and 
 part of the time Tangiia and his people worked for Karika. 
 So very soon the island became a perfect paradise of beauty 
 and fruitfulness, and the two peoples lived together in the 
 utmost peace and harmony. All Karika's thoughts were to 
 do good to Tangiia, and Tangiia's efforts were in all things 
 to please Karika. 
 
 In the meantime, what had become of Tutabu. He took 
 a long time to make the circuit irom island to island, and 
 met with many mishaps by the way, but never shrank from 
 his purpose of overtaking the Tahitian fugitives and making 
 them his slaves. He heard that Karika's fleet was on the 
 seas, but he never dreamt that Karika would befriend the 
 man who had been the means of sending Taaroa away from 
 Tahiti. Indeed he fully expected that the sight of Karika's 
 vessels would be enough to make Tangiia return and fall 
 into his hands an easy prey. So he pressed forward. After 
 a long sea-voyage, his fleet reached Aitutaki, and thence he 
 sailed or paddled southwards to Manuae. Another stage 
 brought him to Takutea and another to Atiu. Here he 
 rested awhile, for the stretch of open water to the south was 
 broad. Having provisioned his ships and provided his war- 
 riors with new arms, he at last made his way towards Rara- 
 tonga, where he had a suspicion that he would find those he 
 was in pursuit of. At last he sighted the high mountains of 
 the beautiful island. Tutabu was determined not to let his 
 prey slip out of his fingers this time. His fleet remained 
 out of sight of Tangiia and the other dwellers on the island 
 till nightfall, and then, when all the rest of the world was 
 asleep, he and his cruel followers glided stealthily in their 
 
THE FUaiTIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 1 19 
 
 canoes over the calm waters towards the new settlement. 
 When the pursuing fleet arrived in the harbour, the warriors 
 rested on their paddles and waited for the early dawn to 
 begin the attack. But there was a man in Tangiia's village 
 whom Tutabu did not expect to find there. He was one of 
 Karika's men, and his name was Mataara. Like the Norse 
 Heimdall he slept more lightly than a bird, and had so fine 
 an ear that he could hear the grass growing in the valleys 
 and the fish swimming in the sea. Like him also he carried 
 a great trumpet in the shape of a long spiral shell, the sound 
 of which could be heard for many miles. Mataara was lis- 
 tening while Tutabu's fleet came over the water. As soon 
 as it came into the harbour and the paddlers rested for day- 
 light, he ran to Tangiia's tent and cried softly " Awake, 
 awake, Tangiia, for your enemy has found you out." Then 
 Tangiia arose and gathered all his fighting men without noise. 
 Among them were those whom Karika had sent to help him, 
 the thirty-nine stout rowers and the twenty-seven kind 
 attendants. But lo ! the twenty-seven who had appeared so 
 mild and gentle before were now the most warlike in 
 Tangiia's battle array. Quietly they marched down to the 
 beach and waited too for daylight. 
 
 Soon the sky in the east became pale, and, as the night 
 mists rolled away, the light was warm and rosy of hue. A 
 little more waiting and the sun arose in his golden splendour, 
 revealing the two war parties to each other. Tutabu and 
 his men gave a fiendish shout as Tangiia and his people 
 pushed off their one canoe from shore, but their shout was 
 returned by such a blast from Mataara' s trumpet as made 
 Tutabu tremble. The sound of the trumpet rang clear over 
 all the island, and echoed from the rocky mountain tops far 
 out upon the sea. Tutabu trembled, for he had heard that 
 
190 THE FUOITI VE OF WE fiO UTH SEAS. 
 
 trumpet before and had suffered from its blast, but he would 
 not give up the fight. He hoped to be able to capture the 
 trumpeter and teach him a lesson, as he had done to other 
 trumpeters who had made as much noise, although their 
 trumpets had not the clear true ring of this one. On he 
 came with his fleet, and out to meet him came the ship of 
 Bolotoo, with Tangiia poising his long spear in the bow, and 
 his warriors ready for the fray. Then when they met there 
 was a dreadful battle. Tangiia and his men fought bravely, 
 but many a time he would have lost his life or been taken 
 prisoner if one or more of the thirty-nine or the twenty-seven 
 had not dashed in between him and his opponents and 
 driven them howling back into their canoes with painful 
 wounds. The enemy was too strong for Tangiia. So many 
 were Tutabu's canoes that, when one was driven oflF, another 
 came forward full of fresh warriors eager for the fight. At 
 last they surrounded his vessel and hemmed him in on every 
 side. Then Mataara sounded his trumpet again, and almost 
 before its notes died away a shout was heard like that of a 
 mighty host which greets a king. Round the point of the 
 harbour, with flags flying and drums beating, came the fleet 
 of Karika. ** Be of good cheer, Tangiia," he cried across 
 the water, "for I am coming." So Tangiia gained new 
 heart. '' Fight on," he cried to his men, " for Karika is 
 with us." Then how they fought the enemy in front, and 
 how Karika bore down upon them in the rear, you would 
 need the men of Raratonga to tell you, for I cannot do the 
 battle justice. Tutabu was beaten, half of his canoes 
 wrecked, many of his bravest warriors killed, and he, with 
 the miserable remnant, fled for dear life over the sea, where 
 Karika still allowed him to wander for a little while, a raiser- 
 able outcast on the face of the earth. 
 
THE FlJfflTIVE OF THE SOUTH SEAS. 1 2 1 
 
 If you ask the Raratongans where Tangiia and Karika are 
 now, they will tell you that they went away long ages ago to 
 Bolotoo, the beautiful island in the far north-west, where the 
 brave and good dwell in happiness forever. Tangiia became 
 an old man on Raratonga, but never again did Tutabu come 
 to take him. One day he saw the doves of beautiful plum- 
 age. They bore a vessel on their outstretched wings, 
 grander than that which had borne him from Tahiti. And 
 lo ! in that vessel, when it touched the water, Tangiia beheld 
 his king, Taaroa, in all his princely glory, but when he spoke 
 the voice was Karika's. ** Come home," he said. So 
 Tangiia stepped into the royal canoe and, upborne by the 
 doves, it swam through the balmy air far into the north-west 
 sea and landed at Bolotoo, whose shores no mortal ever saw, 
 whose joys no mortal tongue can tell. But the doves and 
 the canoe and Karika too, dim in outline, yet very real, are 
 ever coming from the island of the blessed to other isles and 
 lands north and south, east and west, to take the brave and 
 the good home to the place where the wicked cease from 
 troubling and the weary are at i-est. 
 
 What does this story teach us ? It tells us the old Bible 
 story, repeated in so many forms in the traditions of the 
 world, of sin coming to our earth in the disobedience of the 
 first man. It agrees with that story in showing that there 
 was sin in the great universe of God before man fell, and in 
 pointing to him who tempted man as his greatest enemy. 
 But it tells us something for ourselves rather than for Adam 
 and other people. It shews us to ourselves as disobedient 
 children of the God of holiness and love. We know that 
 God is angry with us for our sins, so that we do not see Him 
 
122 THE FUGITIVE OF THE SO UTH SEAS. 
 
 near, and do not dare to seek Him. But we do not want to 
 be ruled over by the great deceiver, for we have sense 
 enough to see that his wages are death. And yet we never 
 could get away from his power if God's ship did not come to 
 •our help, if the Holy Spirit, the true heavenly dove, did not 
 ■come to us and place us in the boat of Christian education, 
 with the paddles of good resolves and the sails of better 
 desires. Then, as we go on our way, the enemy follows us 
 with sore temptations, urging us to give up all our hopes 
 and efforts for a truer life of liberty. Like the canoe that 
 went from island to island, we go from one companionship 
 to another, from one occupation or kind of soul life to 
 another, ever hoping to be free, but ever followed and some- 
 times sore wounded by the great adversary. At last we give 
 up our trust in all these refuges of good works, or self- 
 denial, or seeking to make ourselves better, and go forth on 
 the open sea of God's mercy. Alas we would soon perish 
 there from sheer starvation of soul, if God's love had not 
 made a rest for us in the midst of mercy. We see the living 
 things in that mercy which is over all God's works ; we be- 
 hold strange monsters of other lands and dark ages finding 
 something there to hope in ; but as sinners we are alone 
 upon it, fugitives still. Then over the waters comes the 
 Father in the Son, and He a man like ourselves, but a pure 
 holy strong man. We are afraid, but what can we do ? He 
 is holy, and sin cannot dwell with holiness, nor can we 
 •escape from that holy presence which is everywhere. We 
 yield our hearts to Him and submit to his terms. He hears 
 our prayer, and as we promise to be faithful He accepts us. 
 Then His Word comes to our help, the strong Old Testa- 
 ment with the holy law, the gentle New Covenant with the 
 blessed Gospel. These bring us sweet rest and peace. But 
 
THE Fuarrn^E of the south seas. i 23 
 
 the battle is not over. The enemy of our souls will not give 
 up his prey. He comes while we are resting and thinking 
 ourselves safe. Temptations fall upon us suddenly, but our 
 consciences, taught by the Word and Spirit of God, are 
 quick. We see our danger, and with all our new found 
 powers, reinforced by the truth of the living Word, face the 
 enemy. As we join battle our hearts go forth in prayer, the 
 trumpet note which calls for help and makes Satan tremble. 
 It is answered. Christ is for us, then who can be against 
 us ? Our foes are beaten back, and we are more than con- 
 querors through Him that loved us. The wicked one may 
 come again and again, but we need not fear, for God's help 
 is ever with us. We dwell in perfect peace, because our 
 hearts are stayed on God. Some day the enemy will come 
 no more, but in all His glory Christ will come to bear us 
 home to the country into which sin shall never enter. 
 
 In few words the lesson of the story is this : The only 
 deliverance from the guilt of sin on our consciences and the 
 power of sin in our hearts and lives is found in surrendering 
 ourselves to God by accepting the yoke of Jesus Christ, His 
 Son. 
 
VII. 
 
VII. 
 
 "Except ye be converted and become as little children, ye 
 shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven." — Matthew xviii. 3. 
 
 Back in the golden age that lies far beyond man's memory, 
 and in that old world from which your fathers came, was the 
 great kingdom of Valhalla. Its king was Odin, who ruled 
 over a goodly people in a pleasant land, for the country of 
 Valhalla was like that which the old father of the church 
 describes in his simple longings : 
 
 The bitter cold or scorching heat 
 
 Hath no admittance there ; 
 The roses do not lose their leaves 
 
 For spring lasts all the year, 
 With lilies white and saffron red 
 
 And balsam's fragrant tear." 
 
 The people, too, were strong and fair and happy as they 
 were good, with only one exception, and that was the de- 
 ceiver Loki. He also was shapely in form and regular in 
 feature, but his mind and heart were bad. Nothing pleased 
 him better, when he was not working some mischief himself, 
 than to tell wicked tales of others and do all in his power to 
 destroy the peace and harmony of the kingdom. Now, just 
 the opposite of Loki in all respects was the beloved son of 
 King Odin and his queen Hertha, whose name was Balder. 
 Long ages after he had left the world, the poets never tired 
 of singing his praises as all that was beautiful and brave and 
 
128 BALDER. 
 
 good. And even now, in the northern land where once was 
 the kingdom of our story, the very children call the chamo- 
 mile daisy that grows by the roadsides Balder' s eyebrow, 
 because it is the whitest living thing. His brother Thor was 
 strong, and Bragi, eloquent, and Tyr, brave as a lion. But 
 Balder was full of majesty and kindness, and the glance of 
 his eye was bright and shining as the sun. So the people 
 called him Balder the beautiful and Balder the good. 
 
 One day the royal company were assembled in the great 
 hall of Valhalla. Odin saw that his son's face wore a slight 
 shade of sadness, and asked Balder what it was that troubled 
 him, since never before had he seen any trace of pain in his 
 look. Then Balder answered that there was evil in the 
 kingdom, and he knew that soon he would suffer from it, 
 even to death. All in the court were greatly moved by 
 what Balder said, but they did not believe it could be true, 
 for they exclaimed, " Who in all the world would hurt 
 Balder !" Still his mother Hertha thought she would make 
 perfectly sure, and sent out a proclamation to all things 
 living or dead in earth or air or water, that they should not 
 harm her son. All things living and dead, the beasts of the 
 field and the birds of the air and the fish of the sea, with 
 rocks and trees and flowers, promised, each in its own way, 
 that they would obey the command of their great mother and 
 do her son no injury. Thereupon there was great joy in all 
 hearts but that of the wicked Loki. 
 
 Nothing could hurt Balder. When a blow was aimed at 
 him with a sharp battle-axe, his glance turned it aside ; great 
 oaken beams shivered, and stones broke into fragments, before 
 they touched the beloved son of Odin. All things loved him 
 as well as all persons, so worthy was he to be loved. Now, 
 this grieved Loki sorely. He gave himself no rest, but 
 
BALDER. 129 
 
 went everywhere throughout the kingdom, asking every- 
 body and everything if they had promised not to hurt 
 Balder. In earth and sea and air all answered yes. But 
 one day he came to an oak forest and there, growing out of 
 a tree, he saw a sickly plant of yellowish green with white 
 waxy berries, which we now call the mistletoe ; and it seems 
 that this plant had either not heard Hertha's proclamation, 
 or, if it had heard, did not heed it, because it grew neither 
 out of the earth, nor in the sea, nor in the air, but on an oak. 
 So the mistletoe had not sworn to do no harm to Balder. 
 Then Loki was glad. He took the mistletoe and carried it 
 carefully hidden to the placg. where Balder was among his 
 brothers and the great ones of his father's court. As they 
 were just then striking Balder with objects of metal and 
 wood and stone, not with the thought of doing him hurt, 
 but of seeing with their own eyes how all things Ic 'ed him, 
 Loki came up to one of the beautiful prince's brothers, the 
 blind Hodur, who stood apart from the rest, and asked him 
 why he did not join in the strange contest. " I cannot see 
 my brother," he answered, " and even if I could I have 
 noihing lo throw that I am sure might not do him harm." 
 " Take this tender plant," replied the tempter ; " it cannot 
 injure him, and I will guiao your hand." So blind Hodur 
 held the sprig of mistletoe in his hand, and threw it with all 
 his might, while Loki guided his aim. It struck him full on 
 the heart and Balder fell to the ground, dead. The sprig of 
 mistletoe, weak, insignificant looking plant as it was, had 
 killed him, for besides Loki, it was his only enemy. And 
 Hodur, poor blind Hodur, through ignorance he had done 
 the deed which plunged all Valhalla in mourning. He had 
 trusted Loki and Loki had deceived him, as he well might 
 have known. 
 
 9 
 
130 BALDER. 
 
 Amid universal wailing they carried away the dead body 
 of him who had been their pride and glory, and laid it in 
 the great hall over night. In the morning it was gone. 
 
 Then came a change over all Valhalla. Odin's throne 
 was missing, and, though his voice was heard in the air, 
 neither he nor his beloved son were seen more. The skies 
 that had been ever serene and bright were now dark with a 
 pall of clouds ; the lightning shot from out them and 
 scorched the earth with sheets of flame; and the roll of 
 thunder upon thunder struck terror to the bravest heart. 
 When the storm was past and the cold northern light took 
 the place of the genial warmth of other days, it revealed a 
 scene of desolation. The peaceful streams had become roar- 
 ing torrents ; the once calm slumbering ocean raved in mad- 
 ness against rough granite cliffs ; smiling meadows and fruit- 
 ful orchards and banks of many coloured flowers had given 
 place to barren wastes and gloomy pine forests. And amid 
 all this, strange sounds were heard, the groan of pain, and 
 the sigh of sorrow, and the wail of mourners weeping for 
 their dead. But above all these sad sounds arose the cry of 
 Mother Hertha : " My Balder, my Balder, O give me back 
 my son !" Once more she sent out a proclamation thiough 
 all the desolated land saying, " Whoever brings Balder back 
 again shall be loved by me better than" all the world beside." 
 Yet no answer came, for the journey was one full of fear and 
 gloom, through dark and dangerous ways, where enemies 
 lurked that were not of flesh and blood to be met with human 
 weapons, but ghostly and terrible beings of another world. 
 Strong Thor would not go, giant-slayer though he was ; nor 
 brave Tyr, that had never shrunk before an enemy ; nor 
 clever Bragi, who knew how to win the hearts of men. 
 Hertha prayed them all by the gloom and desolation of 
 
BALDER. 131 
 
 Valhalla, by the love they bore her, by the joy of seeing 
 Balder back, to undertake the journey, but they would not. 
 They said it was useless to try. 
 
 " For the beautiful is gone for ever; 
 Never comes the beautiful again." 
 
 At last Balder's youngest brother, a modest young knight 
 named Hermoder, yielded to his mother's entreaties, and 
 prepared to set forth upon the dangerous errand. " If 
 Balder is to bo found" he said, " I will find him ; if he is to 
 be brought back again I will bring him or perish." 
 
 A great company met with his mother Hertha to see 
 Hermoder on his way. As he sat full armed upon his horse 
 there were many that wished him well, saying " He has 
 something of Balder's look." But others pitied him for his 
 fool's errand, as they called it, and others mocked, and Loki 
 went on before to put all kinds of stumbling blocks in his 
 way, for of all things he dreaded the worst was Balder's 
 return. Soon Hermoder left the kingdom of Valhalla behind 
 him as he galloped onwards with only one thought, that of 
 seeing his brother and bringmg him back. He heard the 
 voice of the Allfather in the air, leading him in the way he 
 ought to go, and every tree by the wayside seemed to point 
 like a finger-post in the same direction. He was in a strange 
 land now, at first beautiful though weird, and then gloomy 
 and terrifying. Down the dark gulphs, along a narrow 
 bridle path on a ledge of rock, with fathomless depths beneath 
 him and no light of heaven but frowning cliffs towering 
 above, he rode, while loose stones struck against his horse's 
 hoofs and, falling into the abyss, seemed to utter a mocking 
 cry which was answered by great bat-like figures flitting to 
 and fro in the gloom before his eyes. Many a time he 
 shuddered and almost despaired. Then he would pray 
 
13 a BALDER. 
 
 " Allfather, guide thy son ; Balder, help thy brother who 
 seeks thee;" and he would see a gleam of light before which 
 the phantoms fled, and hear above him a comforting voice. 
 Soon he found by his horse's pace that he was ascending, 
 slowly climbing upwards towards the light of day. At 
 length he reached a wide plain where the way was clear, but 
 it was barred off from the narrow mountain pass by a great 
 gate, strong and high. Behind the gate a porter sat, a 
 venerable man, with key in hand. Hermoder smote the 
 gate with his sword, calling aloud to the porter to open 
 quickly for his business needed haste. 
 
 The porter answered '* I will indeed open the gate, but 
 you must first dismount, for there is no room for your horse 
 to enter, nor can he enter here." Hermoder was angry, 
 because the brave steed had borne him all the way from 
 Valhalla through danger and thick darkness, and to leave 
 him now, when the light shone and the way was clear, 
 seemed base ingratitude. Moreover he wus accustomed to 
 ride as became a knight of high degree, and did not care to 
 trudge along like a common man at arms. So he backed 
 his horse to leaping distance from the gate and reined him up 
 for the vault that was to clear it. A moment later and he 
 lay beside his horse stunned and bruised upon the ground, 
 for the gate was such as no power on earth could overleap. 
 Being thus dismounted by his own folly, and his steed not 
 being in condition to serve him, he rose with difficulty and 
 knocked once more. Then the aged porter gladly opened a 
 door within the gate and welcomed Hermoder to another 
 stage of his journey. And he on foot with sword and shield 
 walked rapidly across the plain. Well was it for him that 
 his horse had not been permitted to enter, since many a pit- 
 fall, artfully concealed beneath the level ground, made him- 
 
BALDER. 133 
 
 self stumble and fall, that would have been the death of horse 
 and rider. He was in the light of day now, but it was a 
 cheerless day. He knew the sun was shining but he could 
 not see its welcome face ; only in the far-off distance towards 
 which he was moving did he catch a gleam of mellow gold 
 ere it seemed to fade away. He stumbled often as ho 
 pressed forward more eager than his steps, for he was ill- 
 used to long foot marches, and his stumbles hurt him sorely, 
 because of the bruises he had got in his fall. Still he kept 
 up his brave heart, ever and anon saying to himself, " I will 
 find Balder, I will bring him back again." 
 
 When the night began to fall, Hermoder's path lay through 
 a wood and out of it wild beasts came, some rushing open- 
 mouthed to meet him, others snapping at him as he passed 
 by, and others snarling and growling angrily at his heels. 
 But they did him no harm, for those that did not fall by his 
 sword broke their teeth and tore their claws upon his pol- 
 ished steel armour. Again Hermoder thought how well it 
 was that he had parted with his horse, for certainly these 
 wild beasts would have devoured him, but he rejoiced that 
 he had not laid aside his heavy armour and his good sword 
 that had been his safety. He had been cast down all day, 
 but now his heart was lifted up again, as he marched proudly 
 forward like a soldier who goes to battle. In this way he 
 came to a high wall that ran right and left as far as the eye 
 could reach, and just before him in the wall he spied a nar- 
 row door. Impatiently he knocked at the door with his 
 sword hilt, and when a grave voice asked " Who is there ?" 
 he replied " Open quickly, it is I, Hermoder, a king's son." 
 But the warder would not open. He said, " This country 
 belongs to the great king, the king of kings, and no princes 
 but those of his royal house may enter here." Then, an- 
 
134 BALDER. 
 
 swered Hermoder humbly, ** Let me in as a poor traveller 
 who seeks his lost brother;" and he took the helmet with its 
 circle of gold, which was a prince's coronet, off his head and 
 laid it upon the ground. *' Who do you seek ?" inquired 
 the porter. "What is your brother's name?" His name 
 is Balder, the beautiful and the good," replied Hermoder. 
 •' If it be Balder you seek," said the old man, ** pass on in 
 the king's name." So he opened the door and Hermoder, 
 bare-headed, without helmet or crown, entered into a new 
 world. 
 
 It was night, a beautiful summer night. He could not 
 tell what the earth was like for it was full of shadow, and he 
 could only see the moonbeams lying upon the ground and 
 thousands of stars reflected in the water. Nor did he fret 
 because his crown was gone, since the light from heaven 
 gilded the meanest things with a far brighter glory than 
 shone from its golden circle and precious stones. It seemed 
 to lift him up, that moonlit night. He felt as if he were 
 walking among the stars and listening to their heavenly 
 music. He forgot that he was a king's son and a soldir^*", 
 that he was armed with sword and shield, that he had cou- 
 quered wild beasts and had travelled far from home through 
 many perils. He thought of Balder, and felt sure that he 
 would find his lost brother in some such scene of quiet 
 splendour as that which reigned above and won his eye 
 heavenward. Never could he have thrown his head back to 
 fix his gaze upon the skies had he worn his heavy helmet 
 with visor over his eyes and neckpiece pressing upon his 
 shoulders. This stage of his journey passed all too soon, 
 for, almost before he knew where he was, he heard the busy 
 hum of a large city where people were awaking to the busi- 
 ness of the day, and straight before him were the city walls. 
 
BALDER. 135 
 
 The bright sun was rising over it, but between the sun and 
 the city was a thin yet dark cloud of vapour and smoke such 
 as you have seen lying over manufacturing towns on a 
 still day. 
 
 Hermoder knocked gently for admission within the city's 
 gate. He knocked hesitatingly even, for he felt that he 
 would far rather have been back in the night scene from 
 which he had come. The warder waited till he knocked 
 more boldly, and this he soon did, for he remembered that 
 he was in search of Balder and must press forward. Then, 
 said the porter, " Are you prepared to serve the king of this 
 city, for none can enter here who will not serve ! " I am a 
 soldier," he replied, "and will serve the king with my 
 «word." " No swords can enter here," answered the warder, 
 ^' for our king will not be served with weapons of death." 
 **Then," said Hermoder, " I will leave my sword outside the 
 city walls, and serve your king in the way that is most 
 pleasing." So he left his sword and shield behind him, and 
 empty handed passed within the city walls. What a strange 
 sight met his eyes. The city was full of people, and all that 
 walked were burden bearers, and most of their burdens were 
 men and women and children like themselves. Even some 
 of these burdens carried burdens upon their shoulders or 
 clasped in their arms, and all who did so seemed happy. 
 " Give me some work to do for the king,' ' asked Hermoder 
 of the porter, but he answered " I have none to give ; go for- 
 ward and you will find enough to do." Then Hermoder 
 walked on, and, as he went, lamented that he was so idle 
 when all others were busy, until he came to a street corner 
 where a child lay in rags, helpless and wasted with disease. 
 The pitiful look of the child won his brave heart, so that he 
 forgot all about the duty commanded, and thought only of 
 
136 BALDER. 
 
 the little one's sad case. How glad he was Ihat he was not 
 encumbered with sword and shield, but that his arms and 
 hands were free to carry the child. Tenderly Jie carried the 
 little one for a long space, soothing it in his noble winning 
 way, till a dark man with a kindly face took his burden from 
 him and vanished away. Other burdens he bore after this, 
 a sad, homeless woman, and a disagreeable old man, whom 
 nobody else would be troubled to carry. And all the time 
 he grew stronger and his burden seemed lighter, while his 
 heart was happier. But how poor and weak he felt himself 
 when he saw small and feeble looking people carrying 
 great loads, such as he felt he could never lift, of whole 
 houses and great assemblies. 
 
 At length he came to the wall at the opposite end of the 
 city, and beyond it he could see that another city lay. The 
 gate which led out of the one into the other was locked, but 
 his knock made it fly open. The porter looked at him with 
 astonishment, and said, " Is it possible that you have borne 
 burdens in that heavy suit of armour ? You must wear it 
 no longer, but face work and peril as you are." Hermoder 
 was sad at heart, for he was ashamed to appear among men 
 in the plain simple dress he wore beneath his shining mail. 
 Yet he obeyed, for he had found how right were all the 
 other commands he had recei^f^d. Stripping himself of his 
 steel covering, he passed on his way. At first he felt so 
 much lightened by the removal of his armour that he was 
 prepared to carry great loads and run swiftly forward in 
 search of his lost brother. But soon he found the way very 
 rough for his almost naked feet, and the loads he carried 
 wounded him sorely because he had no protection on his 
 shoulders. Evil men mocked him and made him so angry 
 that often his burden would fall while he went out of his way 
 
BALDER. 137- 
 
 to chastise them. He had braved the v/ild beasts of the 
 forest, but here the very insects stung him and the wretched 
 city curs barked at him and snapped at his heels, till he felt 
 ashamed of himself and wondered if he were indeed Her- 
 moder and had any right to go in search of Balder the 
 beautiful and the good. Then he heard the Allfather's voice 
 in the air saying " Faint not; be not discouraged," and this 
 cheered him for a little time. Yet matters appeared to grow 
 worse instead of better. Everybody and everything seemed 
 to be his enemy. He stumbled over the stones, was bitten 
 by the dogs, was jostled into the gutters by the crowd. His- 
 clothes were soiled and torn, his feet were blistered and sore, 
 his flesh pricked and bleeding, his head fevered with the 
 heat, and his heart faint and failing. Those that mocked 
 Hermoder as he wearily dragged himself along thought very 
 little of the king's son, but they did not know that he thought 
 far less of himself. He called himself a poor, wretched, 
 helpless man, and prayed the Allfather and his brother Bal- 
 der to come to his help. Sometimes he thought it would be 
 better if he were asleep in Mother Hertha's arms, with Balder 
 all forgotten. But the Allfather kept up his heart though 
 he did not know it, and Balder sent a gleam of light before 
 his eyes that reminded him of the starry heavens. 
 
 A miserable sight Hermoder was as he passed out intO' 
 the open country, resolved to find Balder even in his rrgs.. 
 Away from the city's smoke and dust, into the greeis 'ields 
 and along the pleasant lanes, he saw the bright sun shining. 
 Everything around him was beautiful and full of happy life 
 and song. So long as he kept his eyes upon this fair world 
 he was glad, but when he looked away from it upon himself 
 his heart was full of fear and of burning shame. " They 
 will never let me in to Balder's presence," he said ; " they 
 
138 BALDER. 
 
 will drive me like a beggar from the door." Then a sweet- 
 voiced bird would sing a joyous note and take his thought 
 away from self; or a lovely floweret would spring up at his 
 feet and force his eye to dwell upon it. So lamenting his 
 own sad state and admiring the beauty that was everywhere 
 around him, he hastened forward between hope and fear to 
 find him whom he loved. 
 
 At last a glorious vision met his eye ; he saw the golden 
 city. Not far away it appeared, a place of beauty such as 
 no tongue on earth could describe nor pencil picture. In 
 the midst of it a light shone brighter than all the rest, and 
 there he knew must be Balder. O what longing he had to 
 be there, what fears that he would not be allowed to enter ! 
 He heard the city's songs ; his ear caught the great All- 
 father's voice, that sounded so like Balder's ; the very fra- 
 grance of the city's perfumes was wafted to him through the 
 pure, bright atmosphere. He thought of the cities he had 
 come through and the wondrous contrast of this. " Surely 
 nothing that is not pure and clean can enter there," he said 
 to himself, " and if that be so, what hope is there for me?" 
 Yet for all that he ran forward till his way was barred by a 
 wide, deep, swiftly-flowing river, whose opposite bank was 
 just below the open gate of the golden city. There was an 
 ■old man on the near bank like those who kept the gates 
 through which Hermoder had passed, and not far from him 
 in the stream lay a ferryboat. Hermoder gently and eagerly 
 prayed the old man to take him over to the other shore, but 
 the ferryman, if ferryman he were, refused, saying that the 
 ferry was only for little children, for whom the Allfather had 
 built that city of gold. " What shall I do ?" asked Her- 
 moder imploringly, " for I must find Balder my brother." 
 '* Cast yourself into the river and swim over," the old man 
 
BALDER. 139 
 
 replied ; " there is no other way." Hermoder hesitated. He 
 could not swim that broad rapid stream in his ragged clothes, 
 yet how could he part with them ? How would he dare 
 unclothed to enter the city and meet his brother ; how even 
 appear before this aged man on the river bank ? So he tried 
 to draw his rags more closely around him until the old man 
 smiled and said " You have parted with so much at the 
 Icing's command, why not part with these ? Are you proud 
 of them?" Hermoder answered, '* I am ashamed of them, 
 but they are all I have ; how can I go unclothed into the 
 king's city ?" " The king has 1 ew raiment for his people," 
 he icplied ; " he that will put on new clothing must first put 
 off the old." 
 
 Hermoder feared and trembled greatly. He could not 
 meet Balder as a knight ; he dared not meet him as a 
 beggar. Yet would it not be more shameless to meet him 
 all unclad ? Then on the other hand, the old man's words 
 sank into his heart and he knew that Balder loved him, 
 and the great Allfather too. So conquering his fear, he 
 hastily tore away his rags and plunged into the river, strik- 
 ing out boldly for the other shore. The current was strong 
 and the wind was against it ; great waves tossed him to and 
 fro and made him their sport, till all his strength was 
 gone. He could only cry " Help me, save me, I can do 
 nothing ! " Then he remembered no more, till the same 
 waves lifted him up and laid him gently upon the river 
 bank below the open gates of the golden city, and lo ! he 
 was no longer the strong knight Hermoder, but a little babe 
 whose pure heart knows no shame. 
 
 The officers whose duty it was to care for the little chil- 
 dren carried the helpless Hermoder into the city and laid 
 him down in Balder's arms, and the glorious sun-god, the 
 
140 BALDER. 
 
 beautiful and the good, clasped the infant brother in his 
 loving embrace. What a meeting was that for Hermoder ! 
 What wealth of love he found coming out of his very help- 
 lessness ! He felt as if he could gladly lie in his brother's 
 arms forever. But he did not forget his mother's message, and 
 his mother's grief. " Balder, my brother," he said, " your 
 mother weeps for you, and the old kingdom is full of gloom 
 and pain and evil since you went away. Come back, Bal- 
 der, and cheer our hearts ; come back and make all light 
 again." Then Balder answered, " Many changes must 
 there be before I come back again, and till then you must 
 bid them come here to me. This will be your message to 
 take to mother Hertha from her first-born son." After this 
 Balder looked into his infant brother's face till it shone 
 with a beauty like his own, and then gave him to the 
 officers to carry across the river. The ferry-boat was on 
 the bank waiting for the child, but the officers, never heed- 
 ing, cast him into the river. Hermoder, with a brave 
 man's heart, full of joy and hope, though but a little child, 
 breasted the waves and swam over the tide that before had 
 wearied him almost to death, gaining strength as he neared 
 the shore. And now he lands, no infant but a strong man 
 again, and there are the officers awaiting him. They clothe 
 him in a new robe of dazzling whiteness, and fasten it 
 round his waist with a golden girdle, and put sandals upon 
 his feet. Then they wish him a good journey in the great 
 king's name, and Hermoder goes forward through the 
 pleasant country towards the City of Trials. 
 
 He came at last to the city, and its gates flew open 
 before him. The insects buzzed around him as before, but 
 now they could not sting. The surly, snapping curs slunk 
 away at his approach, and when the foolish boys and 
 
BALDER. 141 
 
 wicked men threw mud at him from a distance it did not so 
 much as leave a stain on his white robe. His sandals 
 saved his feet among the sharp pointed stones, and even 
 the sun had lost all power to smite, so bright was the glory- 
 that Balder had put upon his brother's head. So he came 
 at length to the gate which led into the City of Burdens, 
 and when it opened to him there stood in the entrance 
 three officers of the great king with armour in their hands. 
 It looked like his old armour in shape, but that was all ; 
 for steel there was silver, and for brass there was gold, and 
 where a little gold and silver had been before there were 
 gems of purest water and richest price. When his armour 
 was fastened upon him he went to look for burdens ; and 
 what burdens he carried now ! They were great loads, 
 such as he had envied bearers before, but they were more 
 than this. Other people might not know, but he did ; they 
 were kings' sons and kings' daughters whom he bore along 
 the way with firm joyous step and strong embracing arm. 
 At length he came to the place where he must lay his bur- 
 den down, and pass out of city life into the quiet peaceful 
 night. 
 
 Again the gate flew open and again the King's officers 
 appeared. They gave him, instead of the old arms he had 
 left without the walls, a shield so bright and shining that his 
 eyes could hardly rest upon its face, polished like a mirror, 
 and they placed in his hands a mighty two edged sword, so 
 sharp that iron would not turn its point nor blunt its blade. 
 Then he went on into the summer night as one sinks away 
 into a beautiful dream, while the stars were the heavenly 
 choir that sang sweet songs of the golden city, and the 
 moonbeams on his cheek were the kisses of Balder, his 
 brother. Alas, the day came all too soon, for he dreaded 
 
142 BALDER. 
 
 the gloomy forest with its wild beasts and the dreary plain 
 with its pit-falls that lay beyond. At the gate the warder 
 gave him back his helmet and crown, and yet it was not his, 
 but a king's crown instead of wondrous beauty and cun- 
 ning workmanshi]), that hid the helmet from view. He 
 bowed low before him, that ancient warder who had re- 
 fused to let the king's son in before, for he saw by his arms 
 and by the glory in his face that Hermoder had come from 
 the golden city. Then Hermoder went on his way fearing, 
 but soon his fears were turned to joy, for all things seems 
 to have been made new. The cloudy pall, which had cov- 
 ered the sky and hidden the sunlight, had rolled away, and 
 the forest was no longer a dark and dismal haunt of wild 
 beasts, but a ])lace of green arching avenues and grassy 
 paths, all bright and fragrant with opening flowers, where 
 the gold-green lizards sported among the ferns, and gorge- 
 ous butterflies sucked the hawthorn blossoms, and sweet- 
 voiced birds filled the air with melody. And when evening 
 came and he passed out of the woodland into the open 
 plain, he found himself in the midst of waving cornfields 
 and fruitful orchards and verdant meadows sloping down to 
 meet laughing, silvery streams. So he arrived at the place 
 where he had met with his great fall and left his wounded 
 horse behind. He saluted the old porter kindly, who replied 
 witti a deep reverence, and then he stood without the gate 
 and gazed upon its height which towered so far above him 
 up to'ijvards the clouds. And he said, " Is it possible that 
 I, Hentioder, was ever so madly proud and foolish as to 
 tempt so great a leap ?" The thought made him hang his 
 head in shame, when a joyous neigh fell upon his ear, and 
 soon after a horse's head was on his shoulder. It was his 
 brave steed that he had left to die in his anxiety to find his 
 
BALDER. I4J 
 
 brother, now strong and well, with glossy coat and nostrils 
 full of fire, and decked with royal trappings. So Her- 
 moder's heart was lifted up once more with a tranquil, 
 thankful confidence as he leaped into the saddle and made 
 towards the regions of gloom. 
 
 Down the narrow path he rode, where there was but room 
 for his horse's feet, and where, save along that path, the 
 thickest darkness reigned. It was to him now a place of 
 awe and wonder, but not of terror. Darkness without end 
 was over his head ; darkness without end lay down beneath 
 his feet. To strike against the rocky wall, to take a false 
 step on the narrow paths, was to plunge into the fathomless 
 abyss below. But Hermoder did not fear, for instc d of 
 the phantom flitting forms he had seen when first he rode 
 through the depths, he now beheld white-robed silent attend- 
 ants who held his good steed's bridle and hovered over the 
 precipice close by his side. Now and again the horses' 
 hoofs would strike loose stones on the path and spurn them 
 into the awful darkness below, but this time their voice was 
 not of mockery ; it was an ever deepening tone of solemn 
 majestic praise. Now he rises up the heights, the light be- 
 coming more and more distinct. He stands on level ground 
 again in a large, broad place and sees far off in the distance 
 the desolated land of Valhalla. 
 
 He comes to the borders of his native country and finds the 
 children at their play. They see him and run half affrighted 
 towards their homes, crying all the way, " It is Balder; he 
 has come back again, and we have seen him !" The old 
 people come to their doors and, as Hermoder rides by in 
 his radiant beauty, they are deceived like the children and 
 fall on their knees to give thanks for Balder found. Loki, 
 beside himself with rage, rushes to meet his great enemy with 
 
144 BALDER. 
 
 the mistletoe branch in his hand, but with one stroke of 
 his good sword Hermoder smites the hand that holds it from 
 the traitoi's body and drives him howling with pain along the 
 road. Mother Hertha has heard the cry, " Balder is back 
 again " ; and, her heart almost breaking with joy, hastens to 
 receive her son. She sees the glory in Hermoder's face, the 
 royal crown, the kingly garb ; she does not doubt that her lost 
 son is found. But where is brave Hermoder? He leaps from 
 his horse and kneels at his mother's feet. " I am not Balder," 
 he says ; *' I am only your youngest son Hermoder, but I 
 have seen Balder ; I have a message from him to you, and 
 now I plead with you in Balder's name to hear his words and 
 do his loving will." 
 
 Mother Hertha called her sons and her court and all her 
 people together in the desolate hall of Valhalla, to listen to 
 Balder's message. Loki, howling with rage and pain, stopped 
 many on their way by saying that Hermoder's words were 
 lies, that he had not seen Balder, that he was trying to win 
 their affections and take Balder's place as their ruler. Some 
 believed him, and went back to their gloomy homes ; but 
 others knew him for a liar and went forivard to the meeting 
 place. Then Hermoder told his story, how he went to find 
 Balder, and after many trials found him. King in the Golden 
 City : and how Balder told him to take to Mother Hertha 
 and to them all this message from her first born so n. '* Many 
 changes there must be before I come again, but till then come 
 you hereto me." He told them of the city, of Balder's love : 
 he told them of the way with all its labours and perils, and 
 offered to be their guide. His face shone with Balder's 
 ^lory while he told his tale, and many believed his words 
 because of what they saw. Poor blind Hodur, though he 
 did not see, believed, and cried out in the assembly, '* Let 
 
BALDER. 145 
 
 me go ; lead me to Balder if he will take me in." Then 
 Hermoder, strong and brave and confident, took his blind 
 brother who had done the great wrong, and brought him 
 safely through all the labours and dangers of the way to 
 Balder in the Golden City. Thither went strong Thor and 
 clever Bragi, and brave Tyr, and thousands more of young 
 and old, all but Mother Hertha, who waits till Balder comes, 
 when she, too, will be taken home. And when they came 
 to th'i great river's bank, all the little children who had not 
 lost their childhood went over in the ferry straight to Balder's 
 throne and to his loving arms, but all the others had to throw 
 away their rags and swim the stream and be cast up help- 
 less babes upon the silver sands on the other side, where 
 the King's messenger carried them into the City of Gold. 
 
 Balder, the white, though nothing more in old world story 
 than one of the gods of a cruel pagan system, may fitly be 
 made a type of the pure Son of God, in whom men have 
 seen the Father. By man's ignorant yielding to the tempter 
 in an act of disobedience, His glory was taken from earth, 
 and by man He was even crucified and slain. The earth 
 misses its Lord. The whole creation groaneth and travaileth 
 in pain, waiting for His appearing, when its youth and beauty 
 shall be restored. Man, who is the crown of that creation, 
 hears the many voices of the world's wailing, and goes forth to 
 seek Him whose loss it mourns. He goes to seek his brother, 
 divine and glorious, but human, too ; that he may bring 
 Him to rule on earth as He rules in heaven. He goes armed 
 and equipped with all earth's panoply, with strong will and 
 high philosophy, with lofty and exclusive pride of purpose, 
 with a fancied spotless life and great faith in self. But the 
 
 10 
 
146 BALDER. 
 
 way to Christ lies through fathomless depths of sin, into 
 which He himself descended, over a lofty wall which shuts 
 that sin out from the distant approaches of the holy city, the 
 wall of God's holiness which none can overleap ; through a 
 region of snares and temptations where many a fall teaches 
 human weakness ; through fields of hard Christain labour in 
 bearing other's burdens ; and through scenes of sore trial 
 and temptation. But whether the Christ seeker's path leads 
 through all of these or not, he loses little by little all his 
 human armour and adornment, and all helpless, unarmed 
 and unclad, he casts himself upon the tide of God's great 
 love that encircles the world. Then he finds Christ and 
 learns that He cannot return to reign till the time of the 
 restitution of all things. Back into the world he comes to 
 tell the story of what he has seen and heard, and, as he returns, 
 for everything he cast away he gets a better ; stronger will, 
 and nobler learning, purer purpose, holier life, and trust in 
 God. Thus the glory of Christ rests upon him, so that men 
 take knowledge of him that he has been with Jesus, and, 
 listening to the message of one who knows, themselves press 
 into the heavenly kingdom. 
 
 Happy are you, boys and girls, if you can but keep the 
 little child's spirit of humility and confidence in seeking your 
 Saviour, and thus have little you have learned to love and 
 trust to cast away on your pilgrimage to God's rest. 
 
VIII. 
 
 site St:easure^Ǥee^er. 
 
VIII. 
 
 " Neither shall they say, ' Lo here I or Lo there !' for behold 
 the kingdom of God is within you." — Luke xvii. 21. 
 
 The glory of Babylon had departed. That great city, 
 over which the proud king Nebuchadnezzar once ruled, 
 and by whose rivers and canals the captive Jews sat down 
 to weep over the destruction of Jerusalem, had become a 
 mere village in the desert. The walls, which once sur- 
 rounded so much life and activity, so much wealth and 
 luxury, pomp and state, were now an enclosure for wild 
 beasts. Great trees grew out of its palaces, and the streets, 
 that in old days were busy with the hum of many thousand 
 voices and with the tread of many thousand feet, were all 
 overgrown with thickets of thorny shrubs overrun by 
 creeping vines. Yet in the village, by the side of the 
 deserted walls which still bore the name of Babylon, there 
 were many signs of life. Wise Jews dwelt there who spent 
 their time chiefly in studying the Old Testament writings, 
 that they might keep them pure, and free them from the 
 mistakes which ignorant or careless scribes had allowed to 
 creep into their copies of the sacred books. There also 
 lived some heathen philosophers, if they deserved that 
 name, who thought, because Babylon in the ancient times 
 had been a great school of magical science, that it would 
 help their studies if they followed them near its ruins. And 
 
150 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 there too were a few merchants who traded into the west 
 with the rich wares of Persia and India, and carried into 
 these eastern lands the fabrics of Egypt and Syria, of Asia 
 Minor and the distant continent of Europe. 
 
 Among these merchants who had grown very rich by 
 attention to business, was one Elgnathir, the father of 
 an only son, whose name was Yoreth. Nobody knew how 
 rich Elgnathir was. He lived in princely style with many 
 attendants, and his son Yoreth was brought up as it became 
 the heir of great possessions. But the merchant owned no 
 land save that on which his house was built, and in that 
 house there were no treasuries with strong doors shutting 
 up his stores of silver and gold. Often in the dead of 
 night, when Elgnathir and his son were peacefully sleeping, 
 the robbers from the desert would enter some other part of 
 the great house quietly and search on every side for the 
 place in which the merchant's treasures lay. But they 
 never found them, and had to leave with nothing better 
 perhaps than a silver cup or costly dress which chanced to 
 be lying in some chamber, and which the rich trader 
 hardly missed. Yet he always had wealth enough to live 
 in a way that made all the neighbours envy him, and to give 
 abundantly to the poor and those who were worthy of his 
 aid. Sometimes Yoreth would ask his father where he kept 
 his treasures, but F'':nathir only answered that he would 
 know soon enough, and in the meanwhile it was better to 
 be sure that the wealth was his than to know where it was 
 kept. Hardly a day passed that many persons, and some- 
 times large companies in caravans, did not come to the 
 merchant's house with money and other valuable things for 
 him, so that Yoreth and the neighbours began to think 
 they were his messengers, bringing from time to time what 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 151 
 
 was needed for daily outlay from some distant and secret 
 hiding place. 
 
 There was one man who was supposed to know where 
 the merchant's treasures lay. At least so everybody said, 
 however true it may have been. His name was Abdallah, 
 and he was the most trusted and beloved of all Elgnathir's 
 servants. He had been carried away from Arabia a slave, 
 and the merchant of Babylon had bought him. Then, 
 because he was a fail tiful youth, and especially because he 
 loved his son with more than a brother's love, the good olr*. 
 trader advanced him to high honour, and set him over all 
 his household. Next to his father Yoreth loved Abdallah, 
 for he was wise enough to see that this trusted servant 
 thought only of what was tor his good, and generous enough 
 to return the love which he felt for his master's son. Often 
 did rhe father speak to Abdallah about his boy, and as 
 often did Abdallah promise that he would watch over him 
 and do all things that Elgnathir commanded him to do for 
 the young heir. So Yoreth grew up to manhood, leading a 
 happy life in the Babylonian village. He learned much 
 about the living creatures in the woods and on the plains ; 
 how to manage his horse and ride in the chase ; to swim in 
 the great river and lure the fish out of its watery depths. 
 He learned something too, from the ruins and the stories of 
 the wise men, about the great city of ancient days under 
 the shadow of whose walls he lived; and many a piece of 
 sculptured stone, and clay tablet covered with strange 
 letters shaped like arrowheads, found its way into his 
 cabinet of curiosities. His father spoke Greek and Arabic 
 and Syriac, and all these languages the young Yoreth 
 picked up, just as we in childhood picked up our English 
 tongue, so that he could talk as well in the one as in the 
 
15a THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 Others. From Abdallah, who had travelled far in his 
 father's service, he learnt other languages, the Persian ' near 
 home,' and the stately Latin of the far west. And the 
 pious Jews, working away with their manuscripts of the 
 Bible, were only too glad to find in the me -chant's son a 
 student of that ancient Hebrew speech which they believed 
 to be the oldest in the world. 
 
 With the knowledge of all these languages Yoreth was 
 able to talk with the traders and other travellers who 
 came to visit his father or explore the ruins of Babylon. He 
 learnt from them the history of the lands from which they 
 came. They described the magnificence of Ecbatana and 
 Ctesiphon, the capitals of the great Persian kings ; the silent 
 majesty of Jerusalem ; the new glories of Constantinople ; 
 and the wonders of the seven-hilled Rome, once mistress of 
 all the world. He longed to see himself the scenes which 
 they described, and wondered greatly if his father's treasures 
 came from any of these great seats of wealth and splendour. 
 His father had brought him up as a Christian to believe in 
 the only true God and in the Lord Jesus Christ whom He 
 had sent, but Yoreth found there were people in the world 
 who had not the same faith. He was well acquainted with 
 many Jews to whom Jerusalem was very dear, but who 
 hated to heir the holy name of that blessed Saviour who 
 had trod its unworthy streets. Persians too he had met, 
 learned, kindly, and as far as he could see, honest and faith- 
 ful men, who yet worshipped the Sun and knew nothing of 
 the great story of man's redemption. And it seemed strange 
 to him to hear from western travellers that there were many 
 thousands of people in the world who never tried to find 
 out the truth about God and the world to come, but be- 
 lieved, or pretended to believe, whatever they were com- 
 manded by emperor or priest. 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 1 53 
 
 At last a sad day came to Yoreth. His father lay upon 
 his death-bed. Suddenly the good merchant had been 
 stricken down, and now all his friends and servants who 
 were near stood around his couch to hear his dying words. 
 Elgnathir had a kind word and a good word for everyone, 
 and bestowed many gifts upon them. Then, when all were 
 gone except his son and Abdallah, who wept sorely to lose 
 a loving father and kind master and friend, he left to Yoreth 
 his house and all that it contained, together with his great 
 store of hidden wealth "which" he :;aid, "Abdallah will tell 
 you about." After this he breathed his last, and Yoreth 
 and Abdallah were left alone. The time of lying-in-state 
 passed away ; the sad and solemn funeral, attended by hun- 
 dreds of mourners of every nation, took place; the days of 
 mourning were accomplished, and Yoreth lifted up his tear- 
 ful eyes to become lord over the household in his father's 
 place. Those who had mourned at the funeral came into 
 the young lord's presence, saying, " Elgnathir, the noble, the 
 generous, the good, has been gathered to his fathers j long 
 may his son, Yoreth, follow in his steps." And as it was 
 the last day of the year, they wished him all prosperity and 
 happiness in the year that was to come. When they were 
 alone, Abdallah said to Yoreth ** Let us now find your 
 father's will and see where the great treasures are that he 
 has left to you." But Yoreth replied " No, not to-day; it is 
 too soon after the time of mourning ; let us wait at least 
 until the new year dawns. To-morrow is time enough to 
 look for the treasures. We have plenty in the house to last 
 us for many a long day." Abdallah pressed his young 
 master only to look at the instructions his father had left, 
 but, finding his entreaties to be useless, he ceased ; and sa 
 the last day of the year passed away. 
 
154 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 It was late on New Year's day when Yoreth awoke, for 
 heart and eyes were still heavy with grief. Abdallah put 
 into his hands a silver casket, in the lock of which he had 
 placed a golden key. Yoreth turned the lock, and, when 
 the little box was opened, found a piece of parchment folded 
 •up within it and nothing more. He took the parchment 
 out, unfolded it, and read what was written upon it in the 
 Syrian tongue. It said, " I leave all my great wealth to my 
 only son and heir Yoreth. He will find this wealth in 
 the city of the great King. In the centre of that city stands 
 a palace, and, in the middle of that palace, a courtyard. In 
 the midst of the courtyard lies a stone, and beneath that 
 stone the treasure rests. Let him look there at the moment 
 that the old year passes into the new, and he will be the 
 richest man in the world." When Abdallah heard this he 
 wept because the hour spoken of in the writing was long 
 passed and another year must end before the treasure could 
 be found. But he said to Yoreth, " Let us begin at once 
 and make preparations for next New Year's morning. 
 Yoreth seemed sorry that that the time had gone by, but he 
 answered, " What does it matter, since we do not know 
 where the city of the Great King is ? We would not have 
 had time to find it, but now we have abundance of time to 
 make enquiries and be sure that we are seeking in the right 
 way." So he went out into the village and spoke to the 
 people he met about his father, and asked them questions 
 about the city of the Great King. 
 
 When Yoreth asked in a careless way about the City of 
 the Great King, he received careless answers suited to the 
 thoughts of the people to whom he spoke. Those, whose 
 fathers and grandfathers had lived under the shadow of 
 Babylon's ruins told him that it used to be the city he 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKER. I55 
 
 wanted, but its king and glory had departed, and they knew 
 no other. There had been a City of the Great King, but 
 now there was none. The Jews turned their eyes to the 
 west towards Jerusalem, and there were tears in them as 
 they said, " B lutiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth 
 is Mount Zion on the sides of the north, the City of the 
 Great King." Yoreth asked a Greek merchant about the 
 city, and he replied, " It is Constantinople, queen of the 
 seas, that lies between two continents, the city which the 
 great Constantine, first emperor of the Christian faith, 
 founded to bear his royal name." Then the young man 
 met a priest in monkish dress, who had come from the far 
 west to visit Bible lands and write about them. " Where," 
 he asked this venerable man, " is the City of the Great 
 King ?" The Monk answered, " It is the City of God, the 
 place that he has chosen as the centre of the world, from 
 whence His holy Church is to rule all nations of men ; it is 
 Rome where St. Paul and St. Peter taught the truth and 
 died." The last whom Yoreth addressed were noblemen 
 from the court of Persia who had come to collect the Baby- 
 lonian taxes. They laughed when he told them of the 
 answers he had received to his questions, and said, " The 
 Great King is our master, the Lord of Babylon and all this 
 eastern world, and he has two great cities. One of these 
 from whence we come is Ecbatana, his summer abode away 
 among the Median mountains in the north ; and the other 
 is Ctesiphon, where he spends the winter, not far away 
 from you on the great river Tigris. Each of these is the 
 C;ty of the Great King." 
 
 Voreth told Abdallah all that he had heard, and proposed 
 thai: they should go as soon as possible to Ctesiphon as it 
 was near at hand and because the great king was then living 
 
1 5 6 THE THE AS URE-SEEKEU. 
 
 there. Abdallah asked his young master to wait a little 
 longer and make sure of the city where the treasure lay. 
 But Yoreth was so certain that it was either Ctesiphon or 
 Ecbatana that he was not willing to make any more enquir- 
 ies. Accordingly Abdallah collected all the money and 
 jewels his old master had left, sold the gold and silver plate, 
 and rented the house for a large sum to an Armenian mer- 
 chant. Thus in a few days he and Yoreth were able to 
 travel in state to the city of Ctesiphon. There, though it 
 was winter, they found a warm delightful climate, and came 
 out of their home of mourning and silence into a scene of 
 life and gaiety such as the young Babylonian had never 
 witnessed. Since he was rich and handsome, well educated 
 and skilled in manly sports, he soon found his way into the 
 King's court, and amid its pleasures forgot the great pur- 
 pose for which he had left his home. After a month or two 
 had passed, the warm weather of the south became insup- 
 portable; the King gave orders to move his court to his 
 summer residence in Ecbatana, and Yoreth decided to go 
 with the King. *' Let us at least spend a year in this city," 
 said Abdallah, "if it be the city of the Great King, or our 
 work will not bring us what we are seeking." Yoreth would 
 not stay. He was fast becoming self-willed, for the young 
 Persian noblemen, with whom he spent most of his time, 
 led him to imitate them in their headstrong race after the 
 pleasures of the moment. Yet he condescended to reason 
 with Abdallah and told him how much more beautiful Ecba- 
 tana was than Ctesiphon. He was sure that it was the 
 true city of the great King and there he meant to search in 
 real earnest. 
 
 So to Ecbatana among the mountains of Media they went 
 in the king's train. When they reached the city, Yoreth's 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 157 
 
 joy knew no bounds. " Look, Abdallah ! " he cried, " did 
 you ever in all your wanderings see anything half so beauti- 
 ful ? " *' It is very beautiful " the servant answered with a 
 heavy heart, but he did not say that he had often been there 
 before, and that sometimes in the morning, when the gates 
 were opened that had been closed since sundown, he had 
 seen little companies of strong men and tender women and 
 young children frozen to death upon the white but pitiless 
 snow, on the very threshold of so much magnificence. Yoreth 
 knew nothing of this. He could not take his eyes away from 
 the city as it rose up the hill-side, with its seven walls stand- 
 ing higher as they ascended, each capped with its snowy 
 battlements, first white, then black, next scarlet, blue, 
 orange, and within, silver and gold. In the centre within 
 the golden walls was the palace of the great king. Through 
 the seven gates the royal procession passed, while the 
 people, high and low, who came to meet it, bowed their 
 heads in reverence, or lay upon the ground with their faces 
 kissing the dust. Thousands of slaves were there, and many 
 of them broken-hearted slaves, but Yoreth rode proudly in 
 the king's train and troubled himself little with thoughts of 
 others. 
 
 The summer months sped swiftly by in the glorious city, 
 and in the neighbouring woods and gardens. All through 
 that summer the roses lasted, and the songs of the birds 
 scarce ceased by day or by night. Yoreth drank the full 
 cup of pleasure, and, when the time came for the court to 
 return to Ctesiphon, he was so much in love with the city 
 on the mountain that it needed no great persuasion on the 
 part of Abdallah to make him stay. So the king and his 
 courtiers departed, leaving Yoreth almost alone among the 
 officers, the merchants, and the common people who lived 
 
158 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 there all the year round. Soon the winter made its appear- 
 ance. The snow began to fall, and with the snow the wild 
 beasts came down the mountain sides and filled the parks 
 and gardens with danger. The roses vanished and the song- 
 birds followed the court. The snow lay upon the gaudy 
 battlements and hid their many-tinted beauties from the eye. 
 Yoreth, too, began to think. He had spent much money 
 and was none the better for it ; he had given much time to 
 the king and his courtiers, and was none the wiser for it all. 
 The young Babylonian became sad. He opened his eyes 
 to the wretchedness and misery of the town. He saw the 
 slaves who toiled without rest, that others might be happy 
 through their labours and tears. He almost fancied that the 
 seven great circling walls, scarlet and azure, silver and gold 
 though they were at the top, were all crimson beneath with 
 the blood of many victims on whose weary lives they had 
 been reared. He despaired of finding his father's treasure 
 in such a city. 
 
 The old year was dying when Yoreth was in this frame of 
 mind. He called Abdallah. " Come, my faithful friend," 
 he said, in tones that touched the servant's heart, " let us 
 seek for the treasure and make sure, though I fear much it 
 is not to be found in this place." So they went together 
 with a measuring line and, because they knew that the gold- 
 capped wall was in the centreof the city, they only measured 
 within its bounds, to find that the king's palace lay exactly 
 in the middle of the area it surrounded. 1 he palace was 
 built round about a square or courtyard, and in the middle 
 of that courtyard was a great slab of stone on which, though 
 much worn, Yoreth could still trace letters, very old letters 
 like those he had seen on the stones of Babylon. It was the 
 last day of the old year when Yoreth gained permission from 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 159 
 
 the keeper of the palace to spend the night within its walls 
 with his faithful servant. They took in with them a heavy 
 iron bar to lift the stone, and a strong pick to break the 
 ground beneath. Patiently they waited under one of the 
 corridors looking out upon the court, until they could hear 
 a gentle hum in the city, as of people rising and preparing 
 for something to happen. Then came a burst of sound 
 from bells and gongs, together with the shouts of the people 
 crying to one another, " the New Year is come !" At once 
 they lifted the stone, heavy though it was. They broke the 
 ground beneath it, which yielded readily and softly to their 
 blows. Down they dug, three, four, five, six feet into the 
 earth, but no treasure chest appeared. Abdallah brought a 
 lamp to the pit and examined the fragments of stone and 
 earth which had been thrown out of it. Carved marble and 
 ivory were there, gaily coloured bricks and tiles, shreds of 
 gold and silver plating, pieces of stone with ancient writing 
 upon them, and sticks of wood all charred by fire. " There 
 is nothing for us here," said Abdallah, " nothing but the 
 ruins of an old city which once stood here, that must have 
 been as beautiful at least in its time as that in which we 
 stand. So some day this great city will perish and be hidden 
 forever in the dust. Arise, Yoreth, my master, let us away 
 to seek the City of the Creat King." 
 
 Yoreth and Abdallah filled the hole with earth again and 
 set the stone in its place. Then they talked till daylight of 
 where they should go. Yoreth remembered the kind-hearted 
 Jews who had taught him Hebrew, and what they had said 
 about Jerusalem. " Let us go there," he said, "for I have 
 heard that people. Christian people from all parts of the 
 world, are going there, and, certainly, it was once the City of 
 the Great King." When daylight came they prepared for 
 
l6o THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 their journey, and soon were on their way. It was a very 
 difficult and dangerous journey, across the rugged mountains 
 which divide Media from Assyria, then over the Tigris river 
 into Mesopotamia, and over the Euphrates into Syria. But 
 the weather became milder and more pleasant as they 
 advanced, and when they reached Palestine, although the 
 roads were wet and slippery with mud, there was no snow 
 and the spring seemed not very far auay. With rejoicing 
 they rode at last into the streets of Jerusalem, and in that 
 city took up their home. While staying for a time at a place 
 of public entertainment, Yoreth sought the company of 
 learned Jews, many of whom dwelt in the city of their fathers. 
 They were very shy of him at first because he was a Chris- 
 tian, but when he told them of their fellow-countrymen with 
 whom he had conversed in Babylon, and who had taught 
 him their ancient language, they became more friendly and 
 asked how they could serve him. Yoreth did not tell them 
 about the treasure, but he let them know he was seeking for 
 the City of the Great King. Thereupon they promised, if he 
 would accept their teaching, to prove to him beyond any 
 doubt that that city was Jerusalem. The young Babylonian 
 agreed and went every day to the Jews' quarter to hear them 
 expound the Old Testament Scriptures. 
 
 A few weeks' instruction served to convince Yoreth that 
 Jerusalem was the City of the Great King. Then he asked 
 Abdallah how much money remained of what he had carried 
 away from Babylon. There was not much left, but by selling 
 some gems that had belonged to his father, enough would be 
 made up to live upon for some time to come. Abdallah sold 
 the gems and the sum he obtained for them was so great that 
 Yoreth determined to buy the house in which his treasure lay, 
 so that no one might hinder him digging for it when the time 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKER. l6l 
 
 came. Together he and Abdallah went through Jerusalem, 
 carefully taking its measurements till they found the central 
 house. It had a courtyard, and in that courtyard was a stone. 
 On this stone were some Hebrew letters, partly worn away, 
 which Abdallah said meant " a law," but which Yoreth was 
 sure meant ''search." However the house was for sale, so 
 they bought it with half their money, and at once moved into 
 it with all they possessed. Every day Yoreth went to see 
 the Jewish Rabbis or they came to see him in his newly 
 bought house. They talked of nothing but the city of the 
 Great King, and when they parted at night Yoreth would 
 take up his own Hebrew Bible and read all the passages 
 written by David and other holy men of old about Jerusalem. 
 Sometimes he was astonished to find that the later Jewish 
 writers spoke of it as a very wicked city which had been 
 once destroyed because of its sins, but then again others said 
 such beautiful things about it that he was re-assured and did 
 not repent the bargain he had made. 
 
 At last the wished-for end of the year came. There was no 
 need for stealing away silently to the place where the treasure 
 lay, for the house was all Yoreth's own. Everything was 
 made ready. The rabbis were invited to come and see the 
 treasure, and, shortly before the hour of midnight, they went 
 out with Yoreth and Abdallah and a company of servants 
 with crowbars and spades into the courtyard. When the last 
 grain of sand fell in the hour-glass which Abdallah held in 
 his hand, the stone was raised and the digging began. After 
 going down a few feet through soft earth, one of the spades 
 struck something that gave forth a ringing sound and made 
 Yoreth's heart leap with hopeful joy. Carefully the servants 
 uncovered it and showed the lid of a small iron chest. " Here 
 are the treasures !" cried Yoreth, almost beside himself with 
 
lOz THE rUEASCRK-SEKKEH. 
 
 happiness. The men reached down and found the handles. 
 They hfted it up with ease, for it was very light, and when 
 Ahdallah saw this his countenance fell, although his master 
 was so full of hope that he noticed nothing hut the box. A 
 rusty key was fastened by a chain to one of the handles. 
 Yoreth seized the key, broke the slight chain that held it, and 
 put it into the lock. The lock turned with a harsh grating 
 sound. The lid flew open and showed a roll of mouldy 
 leather. " This can't be the treasure," thought Yoreth, 
 " but it will tell me where to find the treasure." So the 
 leather case was stripi)ed off, and then another case or wrap- 
 ping of softer skin, and then appeared a scroll of parchment 
 covered with old Hebrew I .ters. Yoreth showed the manu- 
 scrii^t to the oldest rabbi, who gave thanks to God and cried 
 " Wonderful, Wonderful I was there ever such a treasure ; 
 it is the oldest writing of the cursing upon Mount Ebal I 
 have ever seen." When Yoreth heard this, the blood left 
 his face j for a moment he stood like a stone, speechless ; 
 then with a groan he staggered and would have fallen faint- 
 ing to the ground if Abdallah had not caught him in his 
 arms. " Keep the parchment treasure and leave us !" cried 
 the faithful servant to the rabbis. So Yoreth and he were 
 once more alone in their sorrow, 
 
 Elgnathir's son was ill for many long days, but Abdallah 
 nursed him carefully and tenderly. When he recovered, he 
 said to his faithful attendant, " Let us go away from this 
 place for I can hear nothing but the cursing of Mount Ebal. 
 Even the ruins of Ecbatana were not so bad as this." 
 *' Where next shall we go ?" asked Abdallah ; and Yoretli 
 answered feebly, " To Constantinople, where reigns the 
 great Christian emperor." A rich Jew bought the house for 
 more than they had paid for it, because he had heard of the 
 
THE TUEASUIiE-SEEKEIl. 1 63 
 
 finding of the parchment scroll and hoped to discover other 
 treasures beside. Then with what they got from the sale of 
 the house and the little ready money which remained over, 
 they departed to the sea coast and took ship for Constanti- 
 nople. The sea voyage did the young man good, for it 
 brought new scenes before his eyes ; the coasts of Palestine 
 and Syria, the island of Cyprus, the southern shores of Asia 
 Minor, the lovely ^gean sea with its many islands, the nar- 
 row Hellespont or strait of the Dardanelles, which carried 
 the ship, like a river, into the Propontis or Sea of Marmora, 
 and, last of all, that spacious harbour, the Golden Horn, 
 crowded with innumerable vessels and the riches of many 
 lands. With some regret at first Yoreth and Abdallah left 
 the ship in which they had spent such hai>py days, but when 
 they walked the streets of the city of Constantine and 
 saw its palaces, its churches, its markets, with all their gran- 
 deur and signs of wealth, the regret disappeared and they 
 rejoiced that at last they had found the city of the great 
 King. 
 
 It was no easy task to find the centre of Constantinople, 
 for the city was fourteen miles round. Many weeks passed 
 before Yoreth and Abdallah found that a church stood in 
 the middle of it, a church with a great domed over space in 
 the midst, and a long flat stone on the pavement such as 
 they had been taught to expect. How could they ever 
 hope to get the treasure from this sacred place ? Would it 
 not be death to attempt such sacrilege ? Their money too 
 was almost gone, for it cost a great deal to live at Constan- 
 tinople. Yoreth made up his mind to become a soldier, 
 one of the emperor's guard if possible, and to get the help 
 of some of his fellow soldiers, after he had gained their 
 friendship and promised them rewards, to recover his 
 
164 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 father's wealth, for he did not doubt that it was lying be- 
 neath that stone. The next day he offered himself to the 
 chief captain of the imperial guard, and as he was a hand- 
 some, tall young man and could manage a horse and his 
 arms well, the captain bade him take the soldier's oath of 
 fidelity to the emperor and put on his uniform. Then, after 
 a few day's training, he was allowed to take his place in the 
 ranks, sometimes on horseback when the emperor went 
 abroad, and at others on foot when he mounted guard 
 about the palace. Abdallah would not become a soldier. 
 He said he was a man of peace and had no love for even 
 the outward signs of war. So he engaged himself to an 
 eastern merchant livmg in the city and entered anew upon 
 a trader's life. 
 
 Yoreth became a great favourite with his new comrades. 
 His officers also thought highly of him, and the emperor 
 himself stopped more than once to look at the tall, hand- 
 some soldier who kept guard from time to time at the doors 
 of his apartments. In consequence of all this the young 
 Babylonian was promoted to the rank of a petty officer and 
 the command of ten men, most of whom chanced, like him- 
 self, to come from the east. The time passed rapidly by, 
 and, when the old year was near its end, Yoreth was sur- 
 prised and delighted to hear that the emperor intended to 
 visit the very church where his treasure lay upon the New 
 Year, and that he and his guard of ten were to prepare to re- 
 ceive him. Already on many occasions ht had accom- 
 panied the emperor to other churches and had knelt or 
 bowed or presented arms at the service, because such were 
 the emperor's orders, without thinking much or at all about 
 what it meant. Now, however, he was to be in a church on 
 business that concerned him more than the emperor or any- 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 1 65 
 
 ■one else. He spoke to the soldiers under his command 
 whom he could trust, and promised them great rewards out 
 of his father's hidden treasure. The eve of the New Year 
 came. Yoreth's officer called him forth and made him 
 march his men to the church and guard all its doors, that 
 nobody might enter save the priests until the emperor 
 should come in the morning to join in the New Year's ser- 
 vice. With a glad heart full of hope Yoreth marched to the 
 centre of the city and set his guards at the doors of the 
 sacred building. 
 
 The Roman soldier remained on guard for six hours at a 
 time. There were only four doors to place sentries over, 
 and over these Yoreth set men whom he could trust, 
 because they would be relieved before the time to search 
 -came, and then he could fill their places with four who 
 were not his friends. Midnight came. The four trusty 
 guardsme came in and the four doubtful ones went to 
 their posts. The priests and acolytes had finished their 
 preparations and retired to rest, that they might be fresh 
 and ready for their duties on the morrow. Yoreth and his 
 six companions hastened to the stone. With great difficulty 
 they raised it, without looking at what was written upon its 
 surface. Some distance below lay another stone which 
 they loosened from its bed with their short swords, when a 
 sickening odour that almost stifled them rose into the air. 
 They lifted it up on end, and there, to their horror and dis- 
 appointment, they saw that they had raised the lid of a 
 great stone coffin in which lay, in faded purple robe and 
 with a golden crown upon its head, the decaying body of 
 an emperor. '* It is the great Emperor Constantine," cried 
 •one of the soldiers ; " I knew he was buried in this church, 
 but never thought this villain here would have made us do 
 
1 66 THE TUKASUnh^-SKEKER. 
 
 SO foul a deed." Then advancing towards the horror- 
 stricken Yoreth, he cried, " You shall pay for this. Come 
 comrades, seize him in the emperor's name." 'J'hen Yoreth 
 regained his senses. He dashed the soldier who spoke to 
 the i)avcment with an alarming clang of his armour on tlie 
 stories, then rushed to the nearest door, overturned the sen- 
 tinel who stood before it, and fled away in terror through 
 the silent streets. 
 
 When he had run sufficiently far without meeting anyone, 
 Yoreth slackened his pace and marched with military step 
 towards the (piarter where Abdallah lodged. Happily the 
 faithful servant was awake, wondering what had happened 
 to his young master and anxious for his safety. Gladly he 
 took him in, gave him a change of clothing, and then led 
 him down to the water side, where a vessel lay that was to 
 set sail next morning for Italy. Abdallah easily persuaded 
 the captain, who was carrying goods for his employer, to 
 sail at once as the wind was blowing fair, and at the same 
 tmie dropped Yoreth's uniform which he had brought with 
 him into the deep harbour. Anxiously did this devoted 
 friend stand on the shore watching the ship sail slowly 
 away, for he could hear an alarm in the city, the sound of 
 a trumpet, and the tramp of horsemen in the streets. Soon 
 the vessel rounded the Horn and was lost to sight, but not 
 a moment too soon, for the horsemen of the imperial guard 
 came nearer, they saw him, and seized him as their prisoner. 
 They dragged Abdallah to the light and looked at his face, 
 only to find that he was not the man they wanted. "What 
 are you doing here at this time of night?" they asked. 
 ** Looking for a r>hip that had a cargo of my employer's on 
 board," he replied; "but it is gone and I am very glad, as 
 it will arrive all the sooner in Italy." The horsemen took 
 
THE THEASUniC-SKHKEIt. 1 67 
 
 Abdallah home, sccarched his house, led him to his em- 
 ployer and questioned him al)Out the shijj. All he had 
 said was true, so the faithful servant was allowed to finish 
 his night's rest in peace. 
 
 Abdallah remained in Constantinople and prospered. 
 Yorcth in the Italian vessel arrived after some days at 
 I'ortus, a town situated by the mouth of the river Tiber, 
 and the seaport of Rome. 'I'here he landed and, borrow- 
 ing a small sum of money from the (:a[)tain of the ship, set 
 out for the great city which once ruled the world. He 
 found Rome all that he had expected, and even more than 
 he had hoped, [t was not so showy as Constantinople, nor 
 so bright with barbaric splendour as Ecbatana, nor so 
 beautifully situated as Jerusalem, but it was vast and solid 
 and impressive in its ancient grandeur. There he met peo- 
 ple of all lands and men of every occupation. Soldiers 
 and sailors, merchants and traders, noblemen and slaves, 
 with their wives and children, thronged the streets from 
 morning till night. But what struck Yoreth's attention 
 most was the great nimiber of priests he met, walking si- 
 lently along or muttering to themselves as they went, 
 though they seemed to have little else to do. He chanced 
 to fiill in with an old accpiaintance, a merchant whom he 
 had seen in Babylon, and asked him why there were so 
 many of these l)lack rol)ed people, and what they did. The 
 merchant replied that many young men became priests 
 because they thought it the best v»-ay to win eternal life, and 
 that they were holy men who spent their time in the service 
 of God. So when Yoreth's friend left him, he, thinking 
 that these holy men must love God's children as well, went 
 up to one of them as he walked and saluted him in good 
 Latin. The i)riest muttered a few words and passed on. 
 
1 68 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 Then Yoreth, thinking he had not been understood, touched 
 the priest's shoulder with his finger and ivipeated the saluta- 
 tion, whereupon the holy man turned sharply about and 
 said, to the young Babylonian's great astonishment, 
 ** Begone fellow, and do not insult the servant of God at 
 his devotions." Poor Yoreth had no thought of injuring 
 any man ; he only wanted some kind words and sympathy 
 of feeling. And this was all he got for his pains. "Truly," 
 he said to himself; "this Rome may be the city of the 
 great king, but it is the home of little men." 
 
 Yoreth found rest in an inn that night, but in the morn- 
 ing, when he had paid his score, all his money was gone. 
 What could he do ? He dared not send word to Abdallah, 
 for the Emperor at Constantinople might find out where he 
 was and have him arrested. Still he was determined to 
 find his father's treasure, and for this purpose he spent all 
 the day upon the streets seeking information about the 
 centre of the city. There were some kindly people in 
 Rome, and one of them, who was an architect and surveyor, 
 told him of an inner circle where all the great forums or 
 market-places and courthouses were, inside which he could 
 easily discover the central building. That night the young 
 Babylonian slept in the gateway of one of these fora, and 
 when he awoke, long before the city was astir, he measured 
 the distance by his military step, and found the building 
 that stood in the very middle of Rome. It was not a hand- 
 some structure, square and high, built of rough stone, and 
 with large numbers of little window-like openings with bars 
 over them. " It is very like a prison," he thought. Still 
 he had dared great things already for his father's treasure, 
 and not even a prison would stop his search. So when 
 daylight came in all its fullness and people began to go 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKElt. \6g 
 
 about the streets, Yoreth knocked at the door of the forbid- 
 ding mansion. His knock was answered by a man in a 
 black robe with a rough girdle about his waist, and to him 
 Yoreth made request that he might have some food as he 
 had tasted none for a whole day, offering at the same time 
 to do any kind of work in payment. The man answered, 
 " We are poor priests ourselves and cannot support strong 
 lazy beggars." Then Yoreth said, "Take me for your ser- 
 vant ; I am strong as you say, and I am not lazy ; I will 
 serve you faithfully if you will only accept my service." 
 " No," replied the porter, " we have had servants like you 
 before who stay with us while it pleases them, and then 
 they run away." " Take me for your slave then" cried 
 Yoreth despairingly, " I will sell myself to you for nothing." 
 On hearing this the little black eyes of the porter twinkled, 
 and he said " Come inside the door and wait till I see what 
 can be done." So he left him standing inside the door for 
 a few minutes and then came back with three other priests. 
 Finding he was still vdlling to be their slave, these priests 
 drew up a form of writing which they made him sign, by 
 ivhich he promised to obey them in all things, and to give 
 himself body and soul into their hands. Then pleased 
 with their morning's work, they left their new slave in the 
 porter's care, who gave him some coarse food, and after- 
 wards set him to his daily tasks. 
 
 Poor Yoreth's troubles now began in earnest. By day 
 he was employed in the hardest and most disagreeable kind 
 of work, and at night he slept in a damp cell on a pallet of 
 straw. He was sent out into the city to labour, and some- 
 times to beg, for his masters, and if in any way he failed to 
 please them he was punished with blows or deprived of 
 food. Many a time he was tempted to strike back or to 
 
1 70 THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 run away, but he remembered the solemn piece of writing 
 that he had signed. Now he saw how fooHsh he had been, 
 for even should he find the treasure it would not be his, 
 since a slave can own nothing. Still he kept up his heart 
 somehow and drudged away, waiting for the New Year. 
 Its eve came at last. The priests were all gathered 
 together in their chapel, holding a service which was to 
 last into the New Year. Yoreth stole away to the quad- 
 rangle or courtyard within the building. He knew the 
 place well, for most of his working hours had been spent 
 there. There was a large square stone in the centre, but 
 on the top of that stone was an image of a man in a long 
 flowing robe and wearing a kind of crown upon his head. 
 This image he would have to remove before he could take 
 away the stone, and great was his fear lest the priests 
 should find him at work, as they had such respect for the 
 statue that they bowed every time they passed before it. 
 How he managed to lift that heavy statue down he never 
 could tell ; nor was it much more easy to overturn the 
 great square stone beneath. Then in his haste, and for 
 fear of making a noise, he dug up the earth below with his 
 fingers. After working full an hour with thest; imperfect 
 tools he struck something flat. It was metal. He got his 
 hand beneath it and raised it up, to find a plate of bronze, 
 which, from the holes in its corners, seemed once to have 
 been nailed upon another surface. Yoreth carried it to the 
 lamp which burned under the gateway and read the inscrip- 
 tion engraved upon it in old Latin characters. It ran 
 something like this : " The temple of the God of Fear ; 
 this first day of the year, the priests of the most excellent 
 God sacrificed many human victims upon his altar. May 
 the God of Fear be favourable to his worshippers." 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKER. I'jr'f 
 
 Stung with the new disappointment, and ahiiost beside 
 himself with horror at the revelation of former cruelty in the 
 place where he had hoped to find his treasure, the treasure 
 of a loving father, Yoreth dashed the bronze tablet to the 
 ground. In a moment the porter was upon him, and, imme- 
 diately after, the whole company of the priests. It was vain 
 for him to struggle ; they held him down by power of num- 
 bers and with many cruel blows. Then they bound him 
 hand and foot and sent the porter to call a guard of soldiers. 
 The soldiers came and the slave was delivered over to them 
 charged with the crime of sacrilege or doing dishonour to 
 sacred things. The officer of the guard took a note of the 
 offence and led his prisoner away. Through half the width 
 of the city the melancholy procession passed on its way to 
 the barrack prison outside the walls, and before it reached 
 its destination the sun was up, and the people were stirring. 
 Yoreth noticed, as soon as he dared lift up his head, the 
 people who looked curiously in passing at him and his cap- 
 tors, but he also saw one who passed by more than once 
 looking intensely upon his tall figure, a dark-faced man in 
 an eastern dress, whose form he seemed to know. They 
 came at last to the guard-house and, as he entered, Yoreth 
 saw the man with the dark face standing close at hand. He 
 knew now who it was — his faithful friend, Abdallah. 
 
 There was no trial that day, for it was a holiday. Yoreth 
 spent it in his cell full of sad thoughts, with a soldier pacing 
 back and forward past the door to let him know that he was 
 a captive as well as a slave. When night came, there was a 
 change of guard, and about midnight he heard the new 
 guard stop in his walk and whisper. Then there was a 
 chinking of money, the door of the cell opened, and Abdal- 
 lah threw himself upon the neck of his master's son. "Come 
 
17a THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 
 
 ^way quickly," he whispered, " we have no time to lose." 
 But Yoreth replied, " I cannot go, for I have sold myself 
 and am a slave." " Vou could not sell yourself," Abdallah 
 answered, " for you are not your own to sell. No man has 
 a right to sell God's property." So he prevailed with the 
 poor slave and led him out into the air, a free man. After 
 walking a short distance past the guards into the country, 
 Ihey found horses waiting for them, and on them Yoreth 
 and Abdallah were soon making their way across the Apen- 
 nine mountains to Ortona on the Adriatic Sea. There they 
 found a ship ready to sail for Corinth, in which they em- 
 barked. On the way Yoreth and Abdallah told their stories 
 to each other, and both resolved to go home. So when 
 .they came to Corinth and found another vessel bound for 
 Syria, they gladly took ship once more and bade farewell to 
 the shores of Europe. 
 
 I need not tell how they found their way back to Babylon. 
 •On arriving there they learned that the Armenian merchant, 
 -to whom Yoreth's house was rented, had left the country, so 
 that their old home was theirs again. They sat together 
 like brothers, these two, and talked of the old times. Ab- 
 dallah brought forth the casket containing Elgnathir's will, 
 which he had hidden, along with other family treasures, in 
 a secret chamber, and he and Yoreth began to study it. On 
 the back of the parchment, where they had never looked 
 before, they saw two things which set them thinking. One 
 was the picture of a circle, but so shaded as to resemble a 
 ball or globe, and round about it, in very small letters which 
 could only be read near the light, was written, " any point 
 on this surface may be the centre." After long study, Yoreth 
 -said, " I have read som;v, ik "-e that two great philosophers, 
 hundreds of years ago, thought this world on which we live 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 173 
 
 was round like a ball, so that you might arrive in India by sail- 
 ing far out from the pillars of Hercules between Spain and 
 Africa. Then is not this world the City of the Great King ?• 
 But we must wait almost another year before we search 
 ngain." " Not so," answered Abdallah, for see what is 
 written here from the holy book of Exodus : " This month 
 shall be unto you the beginning of months ; it shall be the first 
 month of the year to you." And then it says below : " 1 he 
 true New Year comes with the new life." They looked over 
 the parchment very carefully now, but there was nothing 
 more to be seen. Then Yoreth cried, "Abdallah, the new 
 life is at hand ; bring the picks and spades, and let us 
 away." 
 
 So they went away, Yoreth and Abdallah. Surely, you say, 
 they had had enough of travelling and disappointment and 
 suffering. Yes, indeed, but this time they did not go far ; 
 only to the familiar court yard in the middle of his good 
 father's house where Yoreth as a child had often played, to 
 the flat stone in the centre, all written over with wonderful 
 characters, on which, as a young man, he had sometimes lain 
 at full length on bright summer nights and looked reverently 
 into the starry heavens. It was easy work lifting that stone, 
 for faith and hope made their arms strong. There was no 
 need for the spades, fo. the great treasure-chest lay all 
 exposed on the surface with Yoreth's name engraved upon 
 the lid. No key was there, but an inserted piece of metal 
 showed the spring that Yoreth pressed with his finger, when 
 open flew the chest. What a sight to behold, the silver, 
 the gold, the precious stones, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, 
 diamonds ! It was true what the will had said ; Yoreth was 
 the richest man in the world. At any rate there were none 
 richer. So all these years you think v/ere lost. No, they had 
 
174 THK THE AS UHE-SEKKER. 
 
 been spent for the most part in honest search and they had 
 taught the young Babylonian a great lesson, a lesson he was 
 ready to give to those who looked for treasures, hidden trea- 
 sures, left to them. To such he would always say, " Go and 
 search at home." On his father's treasures, though all this 
 happened hundreds of years ago, Yoreth is living now and 
 will live for evermore. As for Abdallah, he still ministers to 
 his master's children. 
 
 The kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field. 
 It is not in heaven above, nor in the earth beneath ; for, as 
 Jesus Christ said even to wicked men when He was upon 
 earth : " The kingdom of God has come unto you." Yet 
 people are always seeking for it in holy places, as if all the 
 earth were not equally holy as God's footstool, and equally 
 unholy as sinful man's abode. One seeks the kingdom or 
 the treasure in the glory and beauty of the world, in nature 
 and art and literature, calling each of them the secret of life 
 and the source of happiness. Another will find it in a pure 
 code of morals, such as was laid down upon Mount Sinai, 
 and confirmed on Mounts Ebal and Gerizim. To a third it 
 lies in conformity with the powers that rule the nations, so 
 that Mahommedanism is a great treasure for the Moslem, 
 Brahminism for the Hindoo, and Buddhism for the Chinese. 
 A fourth seeks his reward in slavish submission to priest- 
 craft which fetters the soul. The kingdom of heaven, the 
 hidden treasure, the gift of God, the testament of our Father, 
 is Jesus Christ. Where shall we find him ? Not in any object 
 of nature or production of art or literature, not in any creed 
 or code, nation or church. Each and all of these may 
 help us in our search, but He is not in any of them for us. 
 
THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 1 75 
 
 Just where we are, be it the very Babylon of the world, is the 
 treasure to be found. In our own hearts and upon our own 
 lips it lies, for if we believe with our hearts and confess with 
 our lips Him who came to save sinners and is near to all 
 that call upon Him, we shall have the treasure, we shall be 
 saved. And as we must find the heavenly treasure where 
 we are or just as we are, so we must find it not on any 
 special day or at any special time of life. The year of God's 
 redeemed is come. Now is the accepted time, now is the 
 day of salvation. 
 
IX. 
 
 
 12 
 
IX. 
 
 •' Perfect love casteth out fear." — I John, iv, i8. 
 
 Between Silesia and Bohemia there is a chain of moun- 
 tains called the mountains of the Giants. Silesia is now a 
 province of Prussia, and Bohemia, a part of the Austrian 
 empire. But the mountains were there long ages before 
 Austria and Prussia gave their names to German nations. 
 And the people who lived among the Giant's mountains in 
 the old days were not Germans but Sclaves, a rude but 
 peaceful and kindly race of men. They dwelt in little 
 villages upon the slopes of the smaller mountains, cultivated 
 patches of land in the valleys, hunted the game in the 
 forests, and caught the fish in the streams. Sometimes 
 travelling merchants, whom we would call pedlars, paid 
 them a visit. These were short red haired men who came 
 all the way from the land of the Beormas near the Ural 
 Mountains, and dark featured Greeks from the shores of 
 the Black Sea. Sometimes, too, wandering bands of Goths 
 cr Germans found their way into the valleys, killing and 
 plundering wherever they went, and then the peaceful 
 Sclaves would leave their villages and flee for refuge to the 
 thickly wooded hills. Woe to the poor Sclaves who were 
 found on the road by these fierce invaders. Whether men^ 
 women or children it made no difference ; they were put to 
 death as if they were wild beasts. 
 
l8o THE GOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Now, in one of these villages among the mountains there 
 lived a good man and his wife, who tilled a little piece of 
 ground and managed to make a comfortable home for them- 
 selves by their industry. One of the red-haired little 
 Beorma pedlars, whom they had kindly taken into their 
 house and nursed during his sickness in their village, showed 
 his gratitude by telling father Lubli, for that was the name 
 of his host, how he might increase his wealth. He took 
 Lubli with him over the mountains to rocky places here and 
 there, where loose stones and pieces of ore were lying on 
 the surface to which the good Sclave had never paid any 
 attention. Picking out a stone from among the others in 
 each place the Beorma pedlar made him notice the differ- 
 ence between it and the others round about, " This one," 
 he said, as he broke a reddish brown stone with another 
 and showed Lubli the shining yellow heart within, " is the 
 kind of stone we in Beormaland burn to make copper.'^ 
 "And this," he went on, taking up a fragment from another 
 place consisting, of white stone and crystals of something 
 like steel, "gives us two things, lead and silver," "But 
 here is a stone," he continued, putting one with a silver 
 white face into the hand of his friend, " wnich, if it is treat- 
 ed properly, gives three different things all useful in their 
 way , for sulphur is found in it, and a powder that gives a 
 beautiful blue colour to all it touches, and another powder 
 which the Greeks call arsenic, a deadly poison, but good 
 for making yellow and green dyes and other things beside. 
 Remember what I have told you, and, when traders come, 
 keep a quantity of these stones to exchange with them for 
 what they have to sell." So Lubli thanked his friend, and 
 at once set to work to gather the variegated copper pyrites 
 and galena and cobalt ores which had been pointed out to 
 
THE GOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. l8l 
 
 him. When he had gathered a large quantity he gave it to 
 the Beorma, who engaged a number of the villagers to carry- 
 it for him in the direction of his far off home. Then the 
 pedlar went his way, promising to bring back a large share 
 of the price he should get for the ores when he returned the 
 following year. 
 
 Befo''e the time arrived for the Beorma's return there came 
 great joy to the house of Lubli. A little boy was born and 
 lay in his mother's arms, a little boy, gentle and quiet but 
 very timid, who hardly dared to look up in his father's 
 happy face. But he was not sickly. He thrived well and 
 grew every day healthy and strong, although he still started 
 at the sound of his father's manly voice, and cowered down 
 in his mother's arms like a little frightened hare. His 
 mother wished him called after his father, as Lubli was a good 
 name, but the father said " No, we must call him what he 
 is, a timid little creature, and if he should change in after 
 years then we can change his name. He shall be Truss 
 just now." The mother did not like the name, for it made 
 her think of some one who shivered or trembled with fear. 
 But as her husband loved the truth, and she could not deny 
 that her child was what he called it, she had to submit and 
 introduce her son to the neighbours as " baby Truss.'" It 
 was not a very real introduction, for the greeting was all on 
 the neighbours' side. Baby Truss seemed afraid of every- 
 body but his mother. Though he had pretty lips and 
 bright full eyes, he would neither smile upon them with the 
 one nor look at them with the other. Soon as a strange 
 voice or step was heard in the house, down went the little 
 head with the face towards the mother's breast. Then 
 Lubli, though he loved the boy with all a father's heart, 
 would laugh and say , " Was I not right to call this burrow- 
 
1 82 THE GOOD LOUD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. 
 
 ing little rabbit by the name of Truss, the frightened one?'^ 
 But the mother would pat the little infant gently and 
 answer, ** For all that, he is my second Lubli and some day 
 he will be a brave fearless man." 
 
 All the time that Lubli could spare from his fields and his 
 family he gave to seeking out and gathering the stones which 
 the Beorma had shown him, so that by the time the pedlar 
 arrived he had a large quantity of each kind laid away in 
 caves among the mountains. The Beorma came and made 
 Lubli and Lubli's wife glad with the many things he brought, 
 altogether too fine for their humble home. Knives of bright 
 shining steel were there, and silver cups, and cloth fit for the 
 dress of a great lady, and, last of all, broad pieces of gold 
 money bearing the likeness of strange-looking eastern kings. 
 He said to Lubli, " This is your share of the price I obtained 
 for the ores I took with me. It would have been more if it 
 had not cost so much to carry the heavy stones such a long 
 distance. And then I found that the rocks that gave copper 
 and lead and silver could be got much nearer Beormaland, so 
 that it is not worth while taking them all the way from the 
 Giant's mountains. But the other stone which yields the 
 arsenic and the blue dye is not to be had in our mountains, 
 and as our people must have it, I will gladly take all you can 
 collect." So Lubli took the pedlar over the hills and showed 
 him his great store of cobalt ores. " I can never carry away 
 all this lot of ore," said the Beorma, " but I will tell you what 
 to do. I know how the dyestuffs are taken out of the ore, 
 and will show you how to make a furnace with a chamber 
 above to catch the arsenic as it goes off in smoke, and to mix 
 the burnt stone that remains with powdered flints so as to 
 get the blue dye. Then, instead of carrying away so much 
 useless stone, I will have a more precious load in a smaller 
 
THE GOOD LORD OF THE QIANT MOUNTAINS. 1 83 
 
 bundle. Only be careful how you work among the fumes of 
 the arsenic, for it is a deadly poison. Soon you will become 
 a rich man and I will not be poor." Lubli was sorry to have 
 had the trouble of collecting his copper and lead ore for 
 nothing, yet as he saw that the Beorma's advice was good, 
 and as he was anxious to become rich for the sake of his 
 wife and little Truss, he agreed to his proposal. That very 
 week he set about building the furnace close by the place 
 where the cobalt ore was most abundant, and, under the 
 direction of his friend, soon had it in working order. 
 
 The Beorma travelled farther into the south and west, 
 selling his goods and exchanging them for articles that 
 he could sell elsewhere, while Father Lubli worked at his 
 furnace. He had enough money now to hire men to till his 
 little farm, so that he might give all his time to extracting 
 the valuable cobalt and arsenic from the ores. When the 
 good pedlar returned to the Giant's mountains on his way 
 home, Lubli had great stores of these chemicals to give him, 
 and already saw that he was going to become very rich. And 
 so it came to pass, for the next visit of the Beorma brought 
 him much gold and silver, which he hid in a safe place lest 
 the Gothic plunderers should visit the valleys and take his 
 wealth away. Thus the years passed by, the pedlar going 
 with the productions of Lubli's furnace, and returning with 
 their price in good money. Lubli built a large house, bought 
 more land, employed many servants, and became the lord of 
 several valleys round about his house, In the meanwhile 
 Baby Truss grew up to be a lively active boy, fond of the 
 free life of the hills. He had got to know his father by this 
 time and was no longer afraid of him, but used to go with him 
 to the cobalt mines and the smelting furnace. Lubli would 
 not allow his son to help him in burning the ores, for he was 
 
1 84 THE GOOD LORD OF THE 01 ANT MOUNTAINS. 
 
 afraid that the fumes of the arsenic would poison the boy. It 
 was strange, when he was so careful of young Truss, that he 
 should not have been more mindful of his own health. But 
 he was so anxious to make money, that he forgot all about 
 himself, and did not notice, what his wife saw only too plainly, 
 that, although his complexion was clear and bright, his health 
 was suffering and becoming worse year by year. So through 
 the day Truss had the mountains to himself with the roe- 
 bucks and the hares, and in the evening, when his father's 
 work was done, he brought him home. These evenings 
 were full of pleasure for the boy. His father, or his mother 
 if Lubli were tired, told him stories of wonderful people 
 and things that he had not seen himself, stories of distant 
 lands and strange peoples, of fairies and dwarfs and giants, 
 and, above all, of the two great giants whose dwelling-place 
 was not far away, the Tchernibog and the Belibog. The 
 Tchernibog was a black and ugly giant who lived under the 
 ground and only came forth at night, or at least in the dark- 
 ness, to do harm in the world. Belibog, or the white giant, 
 was beautiful and good like the Balder of the Norsemen, 
 and his home was a glorious palace on the highest peak 
 of the Giant Mountains. '* All this country belongs to 
 Belibog," said the kind mother ; " it was he who gave us 
 our little farm, who sent the Beorma pedlar to our house 
 to make us rich, and who brought you, a little helpless 
 babe, into our arms to take care of for him. Whenever 
 you are in trouble go and find the good giant, and 
 never forget what he has done for us all." Young Truss 
 promised that he would, but he trembled as he spoke and 
 turned his eyes away, for, if he was timid before ordinary 
 strangers, how would he dare to face this great giant of 
 whom everybody was afraid. He remembered that once 
 
THE nOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. 1 85 
 
 when he was with his father's servants, gathering wood in 
 the forest to make charcoal, a great storm arose over their 
 heads, and, as a loud peal of thunder seemed to fill all the 
 world with its deafening noise, one of them said, " It is the 
 voice of Belibog." 
 
 The Beorma came no more to th: valleys. He, too, had 
 grown rich and had built himself a beautiful house in 
 Beormaland. But his servants came in his place to receive 
 the cobalt and the arsenic and bring back the money which 
 Lubli hid away. Alas ! poor Lubli, his wealth brought him 
 little joy. Every day he toiled like a slave in the heat of 
 his furnace, for he would not allow anybody to share the 
 task of attending to it ; others might bring the ore and the 
 charcoal, but he only must know how to make money out 
 of them. Every year he became weaker, yet he still stuck 
 to his work although, after a long night's coughing, he rose 
 in the morning worse than when he went to bed. At last 
 the cough never left him, and he who was once the strongest 
 man in his village became thin as a ghost and feeble as a 
 child. His brave spirit and love for his wife and son kept 
 him up, however, longer than most of those who work at 
 such a deadly trade as arsenic making. But, when young 
 Truss's eighteenth birthday came, he could work no longer. 
 That day he took to his bed, and three days later his wife 
 was a widow and his son was fatherless. The neighbours 
 and faithful servants came in to comfort them in their great 
 sorrow, and found them inconsolable. Then came the 
 funeral, when all the people of the valleys followed the rude 
 coffin over the mountains to a shady nook near the deserted 
 furnace where Lubli had wished to be buried. Truss was 
 there as the chief mourner, but his mother was so stricken 
 down with grief that she could not go with him. With a 
 
l86 THE GOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. 
 
 sad heart Truss laid his father's body in the grave, and 
 then, gathering a few wild flowers from the spot, he re- 
 turned in the great company of mourners. 
 
 As the funeral procession reached the top of the hill 
 overlooking the village, from which it had set out a few 
 hours before, there arose from the lips of all a terrible cry. 
 The village was in flames and Lubli's great house was 
 blazing more fiercely than the rest. Beyond the village, 
 here and there among the fields, the scattered dwellings of 
 the farmers were burning also, so that it was plainly no ac- 
 cident which had set them on fire. What could it bei^ 
 All answered, " It is the Goths, the plunderers !" They 
 had no weapons, these brave men, except their hunting 
 knives. Their bill hooks and axes and boar spears were in 
 their burning homes. But they cut out of the forest stout 
 clubs and hurried down into the valley with Truss at their 
 head, full of fierce revengeful thoughts and a wild despair. 
 When they reached the village not a living soul was to be 
 seen, neither friend or foe, but, about a quarter of a mile 
 along the road, they spied a moving company, and knew 
 that the Goths who had done the cowardly deed in their 
 absence were there, and there, too, perhaps, were their 
 wives and children, prisoners among these savage slave 
 stealing enemies. A few of the villagers remained to fight 
 the flames and save any of their friends who might be in 
 the burning houses. The rest, with '7''iss as their leader, 
 picking up a few hatchets and spears on their way, ran 
 eagerly forward along the road in pursuit of the plunderers. 
 Fearing lest the Goths should see them and escape, Truss 
 led his company off the road, or path, for it was little more^ 
 farther up the mountain side, by ways that he had often 
 travelled j and, as his Sclaves were quick of foot, he soon 
 
THE GOOD LORD OF WE 01 ANT MOUNTAINS. 187 
 
 l)rought them to a spot jast above the point of the road on 
 which the enemy was moving. Quietly descending the hill 
 ill a slanting direction, so as to keep always a little in 
 advance of the Goths, the villagers at last came upon them, 
 and, with wild cries and uplifted weai)ons, rushed into their 
 ranks. The Goths fought bravely, for they were good 
 soldiers and had a great contempt for the Sclaves, but the 
 terrible rage of these poor men prevailed over their enemies' 
 courage and better arms. Not a Goth was left alive upon 
 the scene. All the plunder was taken back from the 
 spoilers, and not only the plunder of their own village but 
 that of others beside which had suffered in the same way. 
 But, better still, in the group of terror-stricken captives 
 whom the Goths had driven before them, many of the vil- 
 lagers found wives and mothers, sisters and children whom 
 but for their bravery they would never have seen again. 
 
 Among these captives Truss looked for his mother in vain. 
 Now he wished that he had staid behind with the old men 
 to fight the fire and save the people in the houses. The vil- 
 lagers thanked and praised him, but he hardly heard them. 
 His only thought was for his mother. More rapidly even 
 than he had come, he sped back again to the village. He 
 threw away axe and spear though red with the blood of 
 many enemies, for they could not save her who was more to 
 him than all the company he left, and they hindered his 
 bounding steps. He reached his father's house. The faith- 
 ful men who staid behind had left their own dwellings burn- 
 ing in their anxiety to save it. The fire was subdued and 
 some rooms were still standing, the rooms in which his 
 mother was most likely to be. " Is she there ? " he cried 
 as he ran forward to the door. The men answered very 
 quietly and respectfully : " Yes, she is there," and stood 
 
1 88 THE GOOD LORD OF THE OIANT MOUNTAINS. 
 
 aside to let him pass. He entered, and in his mother's own 
 room, upon her bed, she lay all quietly, without an answer- 
 ing word to her son's cry of joy or a kiss for his warm em- 
 brace. Truss did not understand at first what the old men 
 ''.d taken in at a single glance. He was motherless as well 
 a. .atherless. The Goths had not harmed her, for her eyes 
 were closed before they came, and these fierce men did not 
 war with the dead. But the brave youth, whom all the savage 
 band had not daunted, was stricken to the ground by the 
 touch of a lifeless clay-cold hand. Others carried the second 
 bier over the hill-tops to the grave beside the forge, for the 
 son, in his great love and double sorrow, had lost his reason 
 for a while and wandered away, none knew where, into the 
 forest haunts of his youthful days. Just as they were about 
 to lower the cofiin into the ground he appeared,— a wild 
 figure, pale and haggard, and threw himself upon it ; and, 
 his strength fairly exhausted with hunger and unrest, fainted 
 there. Kindly hands removed him, strong arms carried him 
 back to his now desolate home, and gentle women nursed 
 him through his long fever into returning health. 
 
 When Truss came to himself again he was poor. True, 
 he had the ruins of his father's house and much land, but 
 he had nothing to keep the house witn or to pay labourers 
 for tilling his fields. His mother had known where Lubli's 
 wealth was hidden for he had told her, but she had had no 
 opportunity of telling her son. He searched everywhere as 
 soon as he was strong enough to go about, among the ruins 
 of the house, in the furnace-room over the hills, in every 
 ■cave and mining shaft, but found nothing. His father had 
 never taught him his trade lest it should injure his health, 
 so that he had nothing to exchange with the Beorma ped- 
 lars. One night, full of sad thought, he lay down upon his 
 
THE GOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTA Ns. 189 
 
 couch, having toiled all day at one little field The other 
 fields were going to ruin, for the villagers were not rich 
 enough to buy them, and had enough to do to cultivate their 
 own. Truss lay wondering where his daily bread was tO' 
 come from, and wondering, too, why such dreadful trials 
 should have fallen upon him more than on others. In the 
 morning he did not recollect any dream of the night, but his 
 mother's words kept ringing in his ears, "Whenever you are 
 in trouble, go and find the good giant.'" Now Truss was 
 Truss still, that is he was timid and retiring in his nature, 
 and doubtful of new friends. True, he had been very brave 
 in his conflict with the Goths, but that was because his love 
 for his mother was so great that it overcame his fears. He 
 had never seen Belibog. He had only his father's and 
 mother's word for it that there was such a giant, and that 
 he would receive him kindly. Sometimes indeed he had 
 seen from a distance the high mountain on the top of which 
 his castle was built, but it was so far away and the clouds 
 were so thick about its summit that Truss had never seen 
 the castle. Still he was in great and sore trouble, so he de- 
 termined in spite of his fears to take his dead mother's 
 advice. ;,, 
 
 Away then on the longest journey he had ever taken went 
 Truss. He had no money in his wallet to pay his way, nor 
 any food to take its place. He would not borrow, although 
 there were people willing to lend him money, for he wished 
 the good giant to know how poor he was. Still he wanted 
 for nothing. The weather was fine and it was no hardship 
 to sleep in the open air under the stars of heaven. There 
 were nuts and wild fruits in the valleys, and fish and game 
 to be caught or knocked down in the streams and forests. 
 He had flint and steel to give him fire when he wantedjt. 
 
190 THE GOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Several days passed in this way, and then he arrived at the 
 foot of Belibog's mountain. The mountain itself was high 
 and vast, and like the mountain was everything upon 
 it. Such great frowning cliffs of rock Truss had never 
 ;seen, nor such gigantic trees. The large birds and animals 
 terrified him, although the beasts did not seek to do him 
 harm, and the birds sang very sweetly. The very grass 
 was high above his head, and the wild flowers so wide that 
 he could only see one petal at a time. He could have 
 built a house on a single blossom. The straight road up 
 the mountain was so broad that all the people of his native 
 "village could have walked abreast upon its gentle incline. 
 Up this road with fear and trembling went Truss and 
 stood at last before the castle of the mighty giant. The 
 gates were wide open, so that he did not need to knock, 
 but he was so afraid of presuming on Belibog's goodness 
 that he tapped feebly upon the lower edge of one of them 
 that he could just reach with his hand. Then he heard a 
 great footstep which seemed to shake the mountain and the 
 castle upon it and made him quake with terror. In a 
 moment the giant stood before him and said in so gentle a 
 voice that Truss could hardly believe it came from him, 
 " Welcome Truss, son of Lubli ; what do you wish me to 
 do for you?" Truss was astonished to find that Belibog 
 knew his name and that of his father, but it gave him back 
 •some courage, so he told his story very shortly and begged 
 the giant tahelp him. Belibog looked at Truss in a very 
 kindly way, for he was pleased with the young man's con- 
 fidence. Truss, however, did not notice this, for the giant 
 towered so high above him that his eyes never reached 
 farther than the buckles on his shoes. Then Belibog told 
 him that his father's treasure had been buried in the earth 
 
THE aOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. 191 
 
 near a great cave in the lead mine, and that Tchernibog, 
 who dwelt in that cave, had taken it under his care. " But," 
 he said, " go to the place alone and take the treasure, and 
 if Tchernibog or his servants come to hinder you, tell them 
 that Belibog has commanded you to do it. They will 
 leave you alone. Then trade with that money in many 
 lands. When you are in trouble call upon me. When you 
 are happy do not forget me. Some day when you know 
 me better you shall bring all your wealth into this castle, 
 where it will be safe always, and you shall live with me as 
 my son." Truss thanked the kind giant and promised 
 never to forget him. Just then he would like to have staid 
 with his great protector, but as he went down the mountain 
 and saw all the beautiful world coming in sight he felt that 
 it was good to live in that world. And yet a little while 
 before it had seemed to him a place only of sorrow and 
 suffering. That night and the next and all that passed till 
 he returned to his village, Truss thought of the giant, and 
 repeated his name over and over so that anyone who 
 wished to do him harm might be afraid at the sound of it 
 and leave him alone. 
 
 Truss reached his home in the daylight, and the same 
 evening when the sun had set and the clear bright moon 
 shone high in the heavens, went forth to the lead mine to 
 find his father's treasure. He had no trouble in finding 
 the place ; indeed there was a stone there to mark it, and 
 on that stone the words were written " Lubli's gift to his 
 son Truss." Now the young man longed to thank the good 
 father who had given his life to make him rich. He 
 remembered Belibog and thanked him in his heart instead. 
 Then he opened up the earth and began to remove the 
 treasure. What a disturbance there was then ! Out of the 
 
192 THE GOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. 
 
 cave near by came tr ops of ugly black dwarfs, and at their 
 back the black giant Tchernibog himself. The dwarfs 
 clustered round about Truss like vicious wasps, grinning 
 hideously, screaming with horrid cries, pulling at his clothes 
 and bidding him leave the treasure. The loud voice of 
 Tchernibog told him to let it rest where it was, then said 
 there was no treasure there, and afterwards offered him a 
 better treasure if he would come into his cave. Truss was 
 much afraid, but when he heard the black giant tell such 
 contradictory falsehoods he saw how foolish it would be to 
 pay any attention to what he said. So he drew himself up 
 very proudly, though he trembled all the while, and said 
 with a loud voice " Belibog wishes it." Then the dwarfs 
 scuttled back into the cave in a great fright, and Tchernibog 
 left him with a scowl of baffled rage on his black face. 
 With a bright and happy heart Truss shouldered the treas- 
 ure, heavy though it was, and made his way home without 
 any further trouble. That morning, as he rested after his 
 toil, he dreamt that his father and mother came to his bed- 
 side and blessed him, while Belibog looked down upon 
 them all with a very kindly smile. 
 
 Now Truss became a merchant. He left his native 
 valleys where the people were poor, and visited richer lands. 
 Perhaps if he had known how to make cobalt and arsenic he 
 would have staid there all his life. He visited the rich 
 towns on the Mediterranean and on the Black Sea ; went to 
 the country of the Beormas, and to Persia and other East- 
 ern lands of which the Beormas told him. He even 
 crossed the Mediterranean into Africa in search of new 
 articles of commerce. Truss became very rich, so rich 
 that he forgot all about his old home among the Giant 
 Mountains, and his great benefactor the giant Belibog. He 
 
THE GOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. 193 
 
 was at home everywhere, for in all places he had business 
 and the merchant princes of the world esteemed him highly. 
 He thought his happiness was going to last forever. But 
 he was mistaken. In the wild country between the land of 
 the Beormas and the Black Sea, where the Don Cossacks 
 now dwell, he was taken suddenly ill. There were no phy- 
 sicians there, not even a nurse to watch by him, none but 
 his servants who sold his goods and drove the beasts that 
 made up his caravan. The only thought of these servants 
 was that if he should die they would be able to share his 
 property. So they left him as much alone as they could. 
 Truss saw death staring him in the face and all his treasures 
 thus melting away out of his hands. There was no one to 
 help him. Yes, there was one whom he had forgotten, 
 who had given him these treasures when he was very poor. 
 He cried in agony, " Belibog, Belibog, come and save me." 
 Belibog came and laid his hand upon the sick man, and 
 that hand was all Truss saw, so gentle, so refreshing, so full 
 of new strong life that the dying merchant revived, but so 
 great that as he looked at it he wished it away, for he 
 feared that with the slightest clasp or incautious movement 
 it might crush him out of existence. Yet when he arose 
 from his bed and entered on his travels and business again, 
 he could not forbear telling his ungrateful servants that 
 Belibog had come to his help. Perhaps he did so more to 
 make them afraid than to express his gratitude. 
 
 Again all went well with him for a time. A physician 
 travelled constantly in his train for fear of sickness in lone- 
 ly regions. But there are other troubles as well as sickness 
 in the world. Truss had opened a trade with the seaport 
 towns of northern Africa, and, as he saw that it would be 
 a very profitable one, he embarked all that he possessed in a 
 
 13 
 
194 THE GOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. 
 
 ship sailing from Italy, and himself accompanied his posses- 
 sions. A great storm arose in the midst of the sea. The 
 terrified sailors gave up in despair all attempts to manage 
 the vessel, which tossed about like a toy upon the huge 
 waves. Truss knew nothing about managing a ship and 
 his physician was just as wise. Already many bales of 
 merchandise that had been stored on deck for want of room 
 below had been washed overboard, and the trader saw 
 no hope of saving the rest. Yes, there was hope. He 
 stood upon the deck holding on by the bulwarks, with his 
 face towards the land of his birth, and called over the 
 stormy waters, " Belibog, Belibog, do not suffer me to per- 
 ish." Then a white shining arm shot out towards the 
 vessel and set it upon an even keel. A voice too that he 
 knew well said majestically, " Be still." It was for two 
 that the voice came, for the storm on the sea and the tem- 
 pest of dread in the merchant's heart. In a moment both 
 were at rest, but was it not strange that Truss shrank from 
 the powerful arm and trembled with a new kind of terror at 
 the welcome voice ? Again as the arm withdrew and the 
 voice was heard no more Truss gave thanks with a feeling 
 of relief. The ship went safely on her way, discharged her 
 cargoes in the African ports, and doubled the wealth of her 
 owner. :;. .%,-.>i:.-r 
 
 Truss was not satisfied yet with his riches. He heard that 
 on the other side of the great sandy desert, which lies to the 
 south of the fertile strip that bounds the Mediterranean Sea, 
 there were savage peoples, rich in gold and ivory, who would 
 pay him large prices for his goods. Accordingly he pre- 
 pared a great caravan of camels, loaded them with merchan- 
 dise and all things necessary for the journey, and set off 
 under the direction of good guides for the land of gold and 
 
THE GOOD LORD OF THE GIANT MOUNTAINS. 195 
 
 ivory. The caravan crossed the desert safely and arrived in 
 the country of the barbarians. These were only too glad to 
 exchange gold and pearls, ivory and precious stones for the 
 articles the merchant had brought with him, and to pay him 
 such prices as he had never got before. Then, when he was 
 anxious to return, they entreated him to wait a little while, as 
 the season of the winds was coming on, during which it was 
 not safe to cross the waste of shifting sand. Truss was not 
 ivilling to delay, for he wanted to turn the things he had got 
 from the savage people into money or other goods in some 
 favourable market. Back therefore came the caravan upon 
 its old track. For a few days all went well. Then the 
 wind began to blow and the fine sand was carried by it in 
 great clouds right in the face of the company. The guides 
 lost their way. Days passed and nights, in which the cara- 
 van had to keep moving for fear of being buried in the 
 rapidly forming sandbanks, and still there was no sight of 
 the green shores of the dreary ocean of dust. The store of 
 water which the camels carried in their stomachs was 
 exhausted after five days, and us there was none to spare for 
 them they died of thirst, with the exception of the best which 
 were allowed a share from the waterbags. The drivers and 
 even the guides became exhausted, lay down to sleep and 
 were soon buried under the sand. Again Truss saw deatli 
 near at hand and his riches about to vanish. Twice he had 
 been saved by his great protector. He thought of these deli, 
 verances, and once more with all his strength prayed Belibog 
 to come and rescue him. When he prayed the fierce African 
 sun was shining down upon his head and the hot sand burned 
 his feet. The wind, full of dust, was close and stifling. In 
 a moment all was changed. A great rock, cool and refresh- 
 ing, that kept ofl" the fiery breath of the storm and moistened 
 
196 THE GOOD LORD OF THE OTAyT MOUNTAINS. 
 
 the very sands beneath him, suddenly rose before his face. 
 And yet it was no rock, for it lived and moved. It was a 
 great body that held a living soul, full of kindness for the 
 parched and weary traveller. It was indeed Belibog, though 
 Truss did not see his face nor hear a word from his lips. 
 The camels that remained came into the shelter, and the 
 drivers, though they knew not what it was. There, for a 
 time, they were refreshed, and, after pleasant sleep, rose to 
 pursue their journey. The great rock was gone, but the 
 fierce scorching wind had ceased, the hot sun had set, and 
 after a short night's journey, the welcome sight of palm trees 
 and grass appeared. Again Truss gave thanks to Belibog, 
 but half shuddered as he thought of that gigantic form. " If 
 it had fallen upon me," he thought, " I should have been 
 crushed into nothingness." It was this fear of his that made 
 the loving giant depart from him as soon as he gave relief. 
 Truss was very rich now and did not care to risk his 
 wealth any more by sea or land. He thought often of 
 Belibog and all the good he had done to him. He thought 
 also of his father and mother, asleep among his native 
 mountains. He determined to go there, here he would be 
 near his giant friend and the memories of those who had 
 loved him. So he crossed the sea with his possessions and 
 landed on the Dalmatian coast. There he engaged many 
 servants with horses and mules to carry his baggage and his 
 stores of gold and silver and jewels overland to the Giant 
 Mountains. All went well with him and his party until they 
 arrived on the borders of his native land. There he found 
 his way blocked by an army of Goths, who held possession 
 of the only pass through the valley by which horses might go. 
 Looking behind him he saw also that another body of enemies 
 was coming up rapidly in that direction to hinder his retreat. 
 
THE GOOD LOUD OF TUE GIANT MOVNTAINS. 1 97 
 
 His servants saw all that he beheld and were panic-stricken. 
 He called on them to fight, but they threw down their arms 
 and ran to the hills for safety, leaving their master alone with 
 the animals and their costly burdens. In his distress Truss 
 lifted his eyes to the great Giant Mount where Belibog 
 dwelt ; and that look, so watchful was the giant, brought him 
 to the side of his ungrateful friend. On came the host on 
 either side, and with them came a great company swarming 
 out of the earth led by the black Tchernibog, who longed to 
 be revenged on Belibog and Truss. The merchant trembled 
 now with a terrible fear, for all the world seemed to be on one 
 side and only his giant protector on the other. But Belibog 
 placed himself in front of Truss, telling him to remain quiet 
 and trust him. The Gothic hordes and the swarms of 
 Tchernibog had united now and filled the valley, standing in 
 dense masses opposite their great enemy. He did not move. 
 There was no weapon in his hand. They called to him to 
 surrender, but he did not heed their wild cries. Then their 
 arrows darkened the air, and many pierced him. They came 
 nearer and threw their javelins ; then rushed upon him with 
 their spears. Then the giant fell straight forward. They 
 saw him tottering, and, fearing, sought to flee, but there was 
 no room to escape. Down, crushing all along the valley, 
 came the gigantic form upon the heads of his enemies. Their 
 weapons had pierced him, but his fall was their destruction. 
 As he fell he turned and lay there with his face upward to 
 the sky. 
 
 Truss came forth and saw his enemies slain. But his friend, 
 his only friend, was slain too, and all for him. He could not 
 understand such love, he could hardly believe it. He went 
 up to the dead giant without any fear but with a sad heart, 
 as he thought of his suspicions and ingratitude in the past, 
 
198 THE GOOD LORD OF THE (UANT MOUNTAINS. 
 
 and with such sorrow of love as even his mother's death had 
 not filled him. He was not afraid of those hands all pierced 
 with darts and arrows, nor of that great noble form, that had 
 sheltered him in the desert, in which was the point of many 
 a spear. He gazed for the first time upon the face of Belibog, 
 calm, radiant and beautiful in death, and wearing a look of 
 infinite tenderness. He lay down beside his friend, forgetting 
 his wealth, forgetting all the world, and wept as if his heart 
 would break. Then he crept inside the outstretched arm 
 and pillowed his head upon the giant's breast, and thought 
 amid his sobs of the wonderful love he had learned so late to 
 know. What time passed by, Truss could not tell, for he had 
 lost all thought of time, all thought of everything but this 
 body on which his head was pillowed. But all at once there 
 was a movement like an earthquake. He himself was lifted 
 up. Brushing away his tears, he saw himself in the giant's 
 arms, and Belibog, his friend, the white, the strong, the 
 beautiful, was bending over him the face of wondrous kind- 
 ness, and saying " Lovestthou me ?" What could Truss say 
 but '* Lord, thouknowest that I love thee." What could he 
 do but cling closer to the arm that was about him. " Then," 
 answered Belibog, " thy name shall no longer be Truss, the 
 fearful, but Lubli, the loving. Come, let us go home." So 
 the giant that had been dead arose, because he was a giant 
 and not a man, and with Lubli, who had once been Truss, 
 in his arms, strode up the Giant Mountain and entered the 
 glorious palace-castle on its summit. There, too, came all 
 Lubli's wealth that was worth removing. He found a 
 father and a mother there, but never yet has he met with 
 one whom he fears so little or loves so much as the giant 
 who gave his life to save him. 
 
THE OOOn LORD OF THE Of ANT MOtWTAINS. 199 
 
 If you read over the 107th jjsahn yoii will find 'hat it 
 contains a story something like that I have tola you. 
 Every now and again in the psalm it i:. written, " Then 
 they cried unto the Lord in their trouble and he delivered 
 them out of their distresses." And at the close we read, 
 " Whoso is wise and will observe these things, even they 
 shall understand the loving kindness of the Lord." We 
 have met together to-day to worship Ood, because we all 
 believe in Him and know Him to be the giver of every 
 good and perfect gift. But many here are half afraid of 
 this good God, and none of us trust Him as we ought. 
 Fear is part of the heritage that sin has brought us. We 
 see God in the great mountain of His power and holiness, 
 and the very majesty which sits enthroned there makes us 
 tremble. We forget that God came into the world to take 
 away sin, and therefore to take away the fear that accom- 
 panies it. How often He has fulfilled His promise to hear 
 us when we call upon Him. How often has He come to 
 our help even when our cry came after a long time of for- 
 getfulness "nd ingratitude. What foolish and wicked relief 
 we have sometimes felt in losing sight of God for a time, 
 even though he had just done us some great good. Now 
 to cure all this let us go with Truss to the narrow valley 
 that leads to the land of our rest. Here we see all our 
 enemies blocking the way. They are sins, more in number 
 than the hairs of our head. You can't kill a sin any more 
 than you can stop the motion of an ocean wave, and bid it 
 be as if it had never been. God can, but, so far as we 
 know, only in one way. That is, by His own death, as 
 God manifest in the flesh, in the person of His Son Jesus 
 Christ. By His death He made an end of sin. Christ's 
 death then has slain all your foes and left the way open to 
 
200 THE GOOD LOIW OF THE HTAST MOVNTAINS, 
 
 peace and rest. Your sins lie there dead beneath the cru- 
 cified. Can you doubt that love ? Can you fear Him who 
 lies there upon the bitter cross, nailing your offences and 
 your enemies to it with the wounds that rent His body and 
 filled His soul with agony ? And yet this is the King of 
 Heaven, the Lord of glory, the Creator of the ends of the 
 earth, the Sovereign Judge of quick and dead. May His 
 perfect love perfect yours, and cast out the fear that hath 
 torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love. 
 God hath not given us the spirit of bondage again t 'ar, 
 but the spirit of adoption whereby we cry Abba Father. 
 
 • -I 
 
X 
 
 : ' t ■ 
 
 I'Txe gvluce voltto gaxje up a gteottc. 
 
c:;"V.'. :::-U':i>i^-^ 
 
,^^., ';■■<., ■-..'■ 
 
 
 Stx« prince xulta 0<ttyje up ji JC^^^Jue. 
 
 " All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower 
 of the field. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth : but the 
 word of our God shall stand forever." — Isaiah XL. 6, S. 
 
 Under the snow-capped Himalayas, on the borders of 
 Kumaon and Nepaul, stood, in ancient days, the won- 
 derful city Kapila. Its ruler, and the king of all the great 
 Sakya land round about it, was Sudhodana of the royal 
 race of the Sun. His land was one of the most beautiful, 
 fertile, and rich, in all India. From its wide fields, watered 
 by numerous streams that flowed from the mountain sides 
 to meet the many branches of the Ganges, two harvests were 
 reaped each year. In the orchards and along the road sides, 
 almost all the fruit trees of India, with those of Persia in the 
 west and Tartary in the north, grew freely. The meadows 
 and open woods were so bedecked with fair blossoms of every 
 kind that they might easily have been mistaken for flower- 
 gardens. In the mountains were many mines, rich in gold 
 and silver, in iron and lead and copper, in orpiment and 
 borax. The forests were full of musk-deer and other game. 
 Silk-worms swarmed over the wild mulberry trees and spun 
 their cocoons without the help of man, and, near by them, 
 wherever they could find a convenient hollow to build their 
 cells, myriads of bees stored the honey they sipped from a 
 thousand flowers. Sudhodana, therefore, was a very wealthy 
 
204 THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 
 
 king, and all his subjects had enough for their daily wants. 
 His land was beautiful enough without any improvement. 
 Nevertheless he enclosed his palace within wide domains of 
 park and garden, by lofty walls ; and into these Qomains he 
 brought all that was most pleasing in sight and smell and 
 taste among the flowering plants and trees of the neighbour- 
 ing countries. The palaces themselves were spacious build- 
 ings, true in proportion and graceful in structure, and were 
 adorned within with more than eastern magnificence. Large 
 bodies of brave Sakya soldiers, each of whom was dressed 
 and armed better than were some of the kings of India at 
 that time, kept watch and ward over the royal palaces and 
 grounds by night and by day. They had nothing else to 
 do, for all the nations were at peace with the kingdom of 
 Kapila. i ^^ 
 
 The greatest of Sudhodana's treasures was his only son, 
 Sidhartta, for his wife, Mahamaya, had died just six days 
 after the boy was born. On this only child the father lav- 
 ished all his affection, and everything he did for improving 
 and beautifying the land was done for Sidhartta's sake. The 
 boy grew up in the midst of luxury and all that could make 
 him happy, as far as this world can make happy, to be a 
 strong, handsome, wise and good man. Yet he was never al- 
 lowed to travel through the kingdom, nor to stray beyond the 
 walls that bounded the palace grounds. The king had a 
 reason for not permitting him to do so, and this was the 
 reason. When the son of Mahamaya was only five days 
 old, Sudhodana had called together the wise men of his 
 kingdom and asked them to read the child's fortune, so 
 that he might give him a name suitable to his destiny. After 
 thinking for a long time, the wise men told the king that his 
 son would not be a great monarch, for he would give up 
 
THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 20$. 
 
 his royalty to seek the heavenly life as a poor man, and 
 in doing so he would establish a new religion better than 
 the old worship of the heathen gods. So they recommended 
 that he should be called Sidhartta, the establisher, Sudhod- 
 ana liked the name they had chosen and commanded that 
 his son should be so called, but he did not believe that Sid- 
 hartta would ever resign the great empire of the Sakyas and 
 become a poor man. However, when the boy arrived at 
 the age of twelve, the king, wondering that he was so unlike 
 other boys and wishing to know the reason, called the wise 
 men together again. When he asked them what his son 
 was going to become, they answered as before, although 
 some of the wise men whom he had first asked were dead 
 and their places had been taken by others. Sudhodana was 
 angry when he heard their answer. He said, " I do not 
 wish my brave, handsome boy to become a poor man and 
 to seek for a kingdom in the clouds, when I have the finest 
 kingdom in the world to give him. Besides I am a lonely 
 man since his mother died, and surely my boy will not leave 
 hi? father who has given him all his love." The wise men 
 replied, " O king, we cannot change that which is to be. 
 We grieve for you, but, as it will be for your son's good and 
 for the good of thousands more, we would not change it if 
 we could." Then said Sudhodana, " How will it all come 
 to pass ? For what cause will the prince leave the kingdom 
 and his father." The wise men answered, " He will see the 
 four signs that point to a better world ; old age, disease^ 
 death, and the emptiness of earthly things. He will meet 
 with a happy man that owns nothing, and will follow him." 
 The king took a note of these five things, and, although he 
 said nothing more to the wise men, he determined to keep 
 them all far away from the sight of his beloved Sidhartta. 
 
ao6 THE PRINCE WHO OAVE UP A THRONE. 
 
 After the conversation with the wise men, Sudliodana 
 Tiad three palaces built specially for his son in the royal 
 •grounds of Kapila, suited to the three seasons of the year 
 in that part of India We are told in the old books that the 
 smallest was five stories high, the next, seven, and the 
 largest, nine. The grounds were greatly enlarged and 
 beautified around these three palaces, and guards kept con- 
 stant watch, so that none of the objects which the wise men 
 had named might be seen by the young prince. Nobody 
 that was decrepid with age, no sick person, nothing that was 
 in the least offensive was allowed to come within many 
 miles of the city of Kapila. The bodies of those who died 
 were taken away secretly by night and buried at a great 
 distance ; and all poor people were forbidden under pain of 
 imprisonment or death, to appear near the royal gardens. 
 Everything that could please the heir to the throne and bind 
 his heart to his future kingdom was provided for him by his 
 fond father. To Sudhodana's great delight Sidhartta was 
 grateful for all this kindness, and spent his days in the full 
 enjoyment of all sorts of worldly happiness. He now 
 thought that the prophecies of the wise men were false. Never- 
 theless he ordered the guards to form a great circle of out- 
 posts at a distance of four miles all round the walls of 
 Kapila, and gave them strict charge to stop all obnoxious 
 persons who might seek to come into the presence of his 
 son and give him a distaste for the things of the world. The 
 guards loved the prince and did their duty well, turning 
 back many of the poor and sick and infirm who might have 
 been helped and should have been helped by the king and 
 his heir. 
 
 One beautiful morning when the sun was softly shining, 
 Sidhartta, wishing for a change from the life of the palace, 
 
THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 207 
 
 called the nobleman Channa who was his charioteer and 
 bade him bring the horses, that he might drive in the royal 
 park. The horses came to the palace gate, four in number 
 and snowy white, all harnessed abreast to the royal chariot, in 
 which Sidhartta took his seat while Channa drove. Along 
 the broad level roads, past garden and greensward, thicket 
 and orchard, smoothly went the chariot. A gentle breeze 
 from the mountains fanned the air and wafted abroad the 
 fragrance of the flowers which the early dew had distilled. 
 The birds were piping their happy morning songs. The 
 insects hummed cheerfully as they flitted past on golden 
 wing, and all the world seemed full of youth and active life* 
 The horses caught the infection of the morning air and 
 snapped playfully at each other, shaking their manes and 
 tossing their heads as if the drive were a mere pleasure trip 
 of their own. Sidhartta and his charioteer Channa con- 
 versed gayly together as they drove onwards, feeling life to 
 be a blessed thing and forgetting, if indeed Sidhartta 
 knew, that the world brings anything else than life and 
 happiness. Suddenly, however, as the chariot turned a 
 curve, the young prince started in his seat and clutched 
 Channa's arm. Close beside them on the road was an aged 
 man, tottering forward with trembling steps by the aid of a 
 staff". His body was bent almost half over with age and 
 toil, but as his head was lifted to view the royal chariot the 
 prince saw his long gray hair, his sunken eyes, his wrinkled 
 brow and toothless gums. " What is that, Channa ?" 
 Sidhartta inquired. " It is an old man, my lord," replied 
 the charioteer. " Was he born like that ?" continued the 
 prince. " No, your highness," Channa answered ; " he was 
 once young as I am ; he was born a little child." " Are 
 there many such creatures in the world," said Sidhartta 
 
208 THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 
 
 again. " Alas !" replied his companion, " there are very 
 many." " And I," at last asked the prince, '* shall I be- 
 come old and feeble in time ?" Channa hesitated, but see- 
 ing his master becoming impatient, he made answer, " If 
 you live, my lord, which may the Gods grant, you will be 
 old and feeble, though not like this poor man." What does 
 he mean, thought Sidhartta, by if I live, and poor ? What 
 can I do but live ? What is it to be poor ? But he asked 
 no more questions of the charioteer. He looked once more 
 at the retreating figure of the old man, then shuddered and 
 said, " Let us go home." So back to the palace they drove, 
 and though all nature was the same as when they had come 
 out, somehow to them it seemed changed and shorn of half 
 its beauty and gladness. 
 
 Sudhodana came to meet his son on his return and asked 
 him if he had enjoyed his drive. Sidhartta answered that 
 he would never drive again, for he had seen that, as the 
 green leaves wither on the tree, so the youth and vigor of 
 manhood must fade away upon earth. " I must leave 
 Kapila," said the prince, " and seek for a land where there 
 is no old age." The King was alarmed. He questioned 
 the officers of the guard, and they solemnly swore that no 
 old man had passed through their lines. The police 
 searched the whole city, but could find no old man. Then 
 Sudhodana told his son that what he had seen must have been 
 an evil vision sent by some enemy to do him harm. Sid- 
 hartta believed his father and again took part in all the 
 pleasures of the court, forgetting for a time what Channa 
 had told him. It was four months before he thought of 
 going out again, and in the meanwhile the King had placed 
 the guards at a distance of eight miles from the city and had 
 given them the strictest orders. Once more the white horses 
 
THE PRINCE WHO GA VE UP A THRONE. jfOf 
 
 carried the chariot swiftly forward over the level winding 
 paths, and Sidhartta rejoiced in the rapid motion through 
 the balmy air. He felt strong and vigorous, for all thought 
 of old age had been banished from his mind since last he 
 drove that way. Far in advance of the chariot rode the 
 noblemen of the court, eagerly looking on every side lest 
 any offensive person or thing should have found a way into 
 the grounds. But, in spite of their precautions, the prince 
 started as before when the chariot turned aside from the 
 main road into a shady avenue that broke the force of the 
 sun's rays. By the side of the avenue, under a spreading 
 fig tree, lay a leper full of sores. His body was livid and 
 wasted, and he groaned aloud in his misery. " What is 
 that," risked Sidhartta. " A sick man, a leper, your high- 
 ness," Channa replied. So the prince questioned him about 
 sickness and disease, to learn that there was much of it in 
 the world, that it brought pain and suffering and made life 
 a burden, that nobody was sure of being free from it, and 
 that it had often attacked the greatest kings. " Let us go 
 home," cried the prince, and spoke not a word more till he 
 reached the palace. 
 
 Sidhartta sought his father's presence and told him that 
 he was going to leave Kapila because there was sickness 
 and dire disease in the kingdom which nobody could cure, 
 for he himself had seen a leper, a miserable being, yet a 
 man like himself, whose whole body was full of sores. The 
 King said, " You have been deceived again, my son. Come 
 and hear what your attendants and the officers of the guard 
 and police have to say to your story." The noblemen, who 
 had ridden before the chariot, all answered that they had 
 seen no leper. The captains of the guard said it was im- 
 possible that any such person could have come in without 
 
 14 
 
210 THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 
 
 their seeing him. The police, who had searched every- 
 where in the palace grounds, in the city, and far beyond its 
 walls, reported that there was no sick person of any kind 
 to be found. Then Sudhodanct quieted his son's fears, and 
 ordered the guards to be posted twelve miles from the city 
 and their numbers to be increased so as to make a com- 
 plete circuit. Again Sidhartta occupied himself with the 
 pleasures of the court. 
 
 Four months more were passed in the happy life within 
 the palace walls, and again a fancy seized the prince to re- 
 visit the beautiful grounds. Again the oflficers of the court 
 rode far in advance of the chariot, and were delighted to 
 find that everything was in the best of order and that there 
 was no sign of any intruder. Channa, too, as he drove the 
 white horses, sought to engage his master in such conversa- 
 tion as would lead his thoughts away from the scenes they 
 had both witnessed on the two former occasions. Nature 
 was as beautiful as ever in its season, and so well kept were 
 the grounds that not even a withered leaf appeared to sug- 
 gest the thought of decay. But Channa trembled slightly 
 as he saw a hawk hovering in the air near at hand and then 
 suddenly descend, quick as a flash of light, to pounce upon 
 a little bird which was pouring out its heart in song. 
 Happily Sidhartta's head was turned the other way, so that 
 he did not see the little bloodstained body palpitating under 
 the strong beak and cruel talons of the bird of prey. On 
 went the chariot, and, avoiding the old paihs in which the 
 aged man and the leper had been met with, entered one 
 that gave promise of pleasanter shade and wider view. All 
 at once the horses come to a standstill. Channa urges 
 them, but they rear and refuse to advance. He leaps from 
 the chariot and goes forward to their heads that he may 
 
THE PKINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 211 
 
 lead them past the object they fear. He sees it all too plainly. 
 What can the officers have been about ? It is a body, a 
 dead body ; already corruption has set in, and the loath- 
 some worms are feasting there. Channa stands in despair, 
 rooted to the spot. Then Sidhartta descends and stands 
 beside him. " What is that dreadful thing?" he asks in a 
 hoarse whisper which is full of horror. " It is a dead man," 
 the charioteer replies as if he were signing his own death- 
 warrant. So they turn the horses' heads towards the palace, 
 and, as they drive forward, the prince questions Channa 
 about death. He learns that his ancestors are dead and his 
 mother ; that his father, king though he is, must die ; and 
 that he, the young and vigorous Sidhartta, must some day 
 be like that helpless, corrupting body which lies across the 
 road. Home they go, sad at heart and with downcast eyes, 
 as if they had been at a funeral of some near friend rather 
 than as returning from a holiday drive. 
 
 Sidhartta retires to his own apartments and speaks to no 
 one, not even his father. His thoughts are all of old age, 
 disease and death. All the glory and beauty have gone out 
 of life. It has no attractions for him. He wishes to leave 
 a world so full qf evil and seek for one in which these 
 things will be unknown. But Sudhodana learns from the 
 charioteer what the prince has seen and fears greatly be- 
 cause the prediction of the wise men is being realized. The 
 noblemen are degraded who went forward to clear the way, 
 because of their negligence ; the captains of the guard are 
 dismissed and their places given to other soldiers, because 
 they allowed so hideous an object to be brought into the 
 royal park. Nevertheless, although the police and the 
 king's servants search far and wide, they cannot find any 
 dead body, not even a sign that such a thing has been with- 
 
212 T//'i' PRINCE WHO GA VE UP A THRONE. 
 
 jn the grounds. In vain Sudhohana strives to cheer the 
 heart of his son with mostly presents. The prince's chosen 
 connpanions seek as unsuccessfully to gain admittance to his 
 apartments, that they may revive his spirits and lead him 
 back to the world. Channa alone is allowed to visit him, 
 and, when he does so, all the talk between him and his mas- 
 ter is of what they saw during their three drives. The mind 
 of Sidhartta is fully made up to renounce his father's king- 
 dom and use all efforts to find one in which there shall be 
 neither old age nor disease nor death. Still he feels that he 
 loves pleasant things ; to enjoy the comforts of a royal 
 palace ; to be surrounded with attractive objects and sweet 
 perfumes and melodious sounds ; to have companionship 
 that suits his high rank and cultivated taste. There are many 
 things in the kingdom of Kapila that he would gladly keep 
 and enjoy, if only the three evils could be forever banished. 
 Yet he can see no way, nor can Channa, of removing these 
 three evils. All his father's wealth and power, his army and 
 police have not been able to keep the sight of them from 
 his eyes, and now that he has seen them there is nothing 
 that can blot them out of his memory or hinder the grief 
 that memory brings from gnawing at his heart. 
 
 Sudhodana did not despair. He resolved to try again to 
 rouse the prince from his gloom. In a short timo his son's 
 birthday was to come round, and for this birthday the fond 
 father made great preparations. From all parts of his king- 
 dom he brought singers and players on instruments of 
 music, dancing men and women, cunning jugglers who, by 
 their wonderful sleight-of-hand could deceive the most prac- 
 tised eye, actors dressed in gorgeous raiment who were 
 able to imitate the real life of great kings and conquerers, 
 and supple-jointed tumblers, skilled to walk almost in mid- 
 
THE PIUNCE WHO GAVE UP A Til HONE. »I3 
 
 air and throw their bodies into any shapes they pleased. A 
 great pavilion was set up in the fairest part of the palace 
 grounds capable of holding a thousand people, and in the 
 midst of it was placed a royal t:ible in front of the king's 
 inost splendid throne. A thcLsand lamps lit up the pa- 
 vilion, and their light, falling uj^on the gold and crimson 
 hangings, filled it with a mellow, rosy radiance. Here and 
 there altars of incense spread al)road their sweet perfumes, 
 while many fountains, scattering their spray high in the air, 
 dispensed around a delicious coolness. Night blooming 
 flowers of varied hues and trees bearing yellow and scarlet 
 fruits shone through the rich dark green foliage, and broke 
 up the great expanse into a multitude of charming views, 
 giving relief to the eye wherever it rested. In many circles, 
 gradually widening round the pavilion, the Sakya soldiers 
 stood on guard, to hinder any intruder from marring the 
 scene of perfect delight which the loving father had prepared 
 in honour of his son. 
 
 The birthday came. Sudhodana sought his son's apart- 
 ments, and was admitted because of the occasion. Tenderly 
 he embraced Sidhartta and begged him for this once to 
 please his father, and show himself to the courtiers who 
 loved him and to the people he had brought from all parts ' 
 to perform in his honour. Channa added his entreaties to 
 those of Sudhodana, and at length Sidhartta was overcome 
 and promised to grace the festival with his presence. The 
 day soon passed by, and when night came Sidhartta looked 
 forth from his balcony and saw the pavilion down below 
 glowing like a great half moon that rested its face upon the 
 earth. He clothed himself in his costliest dress and adorned 
 it with his richest jewels. Then, attended by Channa and 
 many officers of his household, he v/ent forth through the 
 
214 THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 
 
 lines of soldiers, who bowed the knee and presented arms 
 as he passed to the pavilion. The prince had been brought 
 up in luxury all his life and had seen many beautiful and 
 wonderful sights, but never before had his father provided 
 for him such a joyful surprise. Dazzled with the light and 
 the splendour, his ears charmed with the music of voices 
 and instruments in perfect tune, and almost intoxicated 
 with the odours of incense and flowers, he advanced 
 towards the royal table and the throne. On the throne 
 Sudhodana was sitting, but, when he beheld his beloved 
 son, he came forward and, embracing him before the as- 
 sembled company, led Sidhartta to the seat of majesty; 
 then took his own place on a more humble couch beside 
 him. Thereupon all the nobles cried, " Long life our prince 
 Sidhartta," and the trumpets blared and the drums beat, 
 while all in the pavilion stood up and shouted. Out- 
 side, the cry was caught up by the Sakya soldiers, circle 
 after circle, till it died in the far off distance miles away y 
 and the drums of each division rolled like ceaseless thunder, 
 and the spears and swords clashed upon the brass and iron 
 of the warriors' shields like the clang of unnumbered hosts 
 in deadly conflict. Sidhartta forgot his vows, his visions, 
 his thoughts. He only felt that to be king of Kapila was 
 to be lord of the earth. All that night the prince seemed 
 to be in a happy dream. Attendants covered the tables 
 with royal dainties and wines cooled with Himalayan 
 snows. The courtiers, following their master^s example, 
 ate and drank and were merry. The singing men and 
 women sang their sweetest songs ; the players on instru- 
 ments played softly ; the actors pleased the eye with their 
 gorgeous representations of ancient days ; and loud shouts 
 of laughter and rounds of applause greeted the tricks of the 
 
THE PlilSCE WHO GAVE UP A Til It ONE. «S| 
 
 conjurors, the nimble feats of the tumblers and the graceful 
 movements of the dancers. Sudhodana was gratified 
 beyond all measure with his son's enjoyment of the scene, 
 but, as his preparations for it had [wearied him, he took his 
 leave when half the night was spent and retired to rest, a 
 happy man. 
 
 Before morning came, Sidhartta fell asleej) upon his 
 throne. 'I'hen, as nobody dared leave the pavilion while 
 the prince remained, and as nobody dared to rouse him 
 from his slumbers, others soon followed his example. At 
 once the music was hushed and the performances ceased. 
 As there were none to watch them and they had nothing 
 to do, the singers and actors, and even the attendants, sat 
 down to the tables, helping each other to the remnants of 
 the feast which they ate and drank without stint. The 
 lamps and incense altars were neglected, and what an hour 
 before had been a scene of perfect order and beauty, was 
 now one of confusion and riot. The morning came and 
 the beams of the Indian sun shone upon the pavilion. One 
 bright warm ray fell upon Sidhartta and he awoke. What 
 a spectacle met his eye. The wicks of the lamps had 
 burned down in their sockets and gave forth an unpleasant 
 smell of burning oil and cotton. The incense was all gone 
 from the altars, and the coals that remained upon them 
 filled the air with deadly charcoial fumies. The ground was 
 littered with remnants of the feast, and even the marble 
 basins of the fountains were full of the rinds and husks of 
 fruit. On every side lay sleeping men and women, some 
 with their heads upon the tables, others lying upon the 
 couches, and others stretched full length upon the floor, 
 with their instruments and conjuring toys, their acting 
 masks and serving vessels in confusion round about them. 
 
2l6 THK PlilXCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 
 
 Their clothes were in disorder, their hair dishevelled, their 
 bodies in ungraceful postures. Some were sleeping the 
 heavy sleep of the drunkard ; some tossed feverishly from 
 side to side, gnashing their teeth and speaking meaningless 
 words j while others, waking like himself, yawned listlessly 
 as if they were coming out of a great weariness. Even 
 Channa's arms were folded on the table before him, and 
 his head was pillowed upon them. Sidhartta rose with a 
 soul full of disgust, for he had seen the vanity of all earthly 
 things, even of the fairest that the eye of man ever beheld. 
 Forth from the pavilion he went over the prostrate bodies 
 of the revellers into the morning light. The soldiers were 
 on guard still, but the night air had chilled their enthusi- 
 asm, and their long watch had wearied them. They bowed 
 the knee and presented amis as he passed, but no cheer 
 left their lips like that which the night before had filled the 
 prince's heart with pride. Beauty and glory are fleeting, 
 visions, he said to his sad soul, as he went his solitary way 
 to the palace, there to take a troubled sleep upon his silken 
 couch. And as he slept, the dream, which came again and 
 again before his spirit eyes, was one of a land where joys 
 are never ending. 
 
 When Sidhartta awoke finally out of his broken sleep, 
 the day was declining. The courtiers had not dared to 
 come near him, so ashamed were they of their conduct the 
 night before. Channa alone came and entreated forgive- 
 ness for the crime of sleeping in his master's presence. 
 The prince willingly pardoned his faithful servant, and 
 then they went out together to walk in the grounds nearest 
 the city. Every one they met on their way was excited 
 about something or other. Some were grieving over the 
 past, others were doubtful of the future, while otiiers again 
 
THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 21 7 
 
 were eagerly pressing forward to the possession of a new- 
 object of happiness. Sidhartta said to Channa, " Is there 
 no happy man, no quiet satisfied soul in all this world, no 
 heart of perfect peace?" The charioteer answered, "My 
 Lord, we shall see," for as the prince spoke, he beheld 
 before him the figure of a recluse who had given up the 
 pleasures of the world to do good. Soon they stood before 
 this man whose dress was poor and mean, his form slight 
 and emaciated, but his eyes, which looked but a short dis- 
 tance before him, were full of quiet light and his whole 
 face betokened rest and peace. "Who are you?" asked 
 Sidhartta, " and why are you so composed and calm in the 
 midst of a busy, unsatisfied, pleasure-seeking world ?" The 
 recluse replied, " My Lord, I am a man who believes in a 
 better world than this, and all my thoughts I give so to 
 spend this present life and overcome the love of this present 
 world that I may be judged worthy of entering on the 
 happy state hereafter." Thereupon he courteously saluted 
 the prince and went on his quiet way. " There goes the 
 only man I have ever envied and the man whose example 
 I will follow," said Sidhartta to his companion. " All my 
 wealth I will gladly give," he continued, " and all my 
 honours willingly resign to be like him, free from all care, 
 and to cherish a good hope of the brighter world." So 
 saying, he entered the palace and began to make prepara- 
 tions as if for a journey. 'V 
 
 When the night came and all the household was sunk in 
 sleep, Sidhartta called Channa and bade him bring his horse 
 Kantaka, the most beautiful and swiftest steed in the royal 
 stables. While Channa was absent on this mission the 
 prince entered his father's chamber and kissed him softly, 
 so that he might not arouse him, a last good-night. Then he 
 
THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 
 
 mounted his horse, and Channa, swift of foot as a deer, 
 bounded along by his side with his hand upon Kantaka's 
 mane. The guards were struck with terror at the sight of 
 the large white horse and the royal figure that bestrode 
 him and the vaulting attendant by his side. They gave 
 way and fled as Sidhartta rode forward. Then he came 
 to the city gates and Kantaka was preparing to over-leap 
 the tall iron barriers when suddenly they flew open of their 
 own accord. Now, through fields and woods he had never 
 seen before, over rough roads, past miserable huts and 
 places of wailing and yards where the dead lay buried» 
 the fugitive prince rode, not sorrowfully as Channa thought, 
 but rejoicing that he had escaped from a charmed life of 
 deception into one that, spite of its miseries and horrors, 
 was real and true. " There is much work to be done in a 
 world like this," he said to his faithful companion. And 
 Channa answered, " Ah, Lord, all the work of all the men 
 in the world will not make it worth living in forever." 
 ** True," replied Sidhartta, " but it can be made less sor- 
 rowful, and with the knowledge of the world beyond it 
 may be made a place of hope and peace. This shall be 
 my work." When the day dawned, many long miles separ- 
 ated the fugitives from the city of Kapila. Then Sidhartta 
 stopped and dismounted from his horse. He took off" his 
 royal raiment and put on a coarse gown that he had carried 
 in a bundle behind him. Then he took his sword and 
 with its sharp edge cut his long hair close to his head. The 
 sword and all his princely attire he gave to Channa, saying, 
 " Mount Kantaka and take these things back to Kapila to 
 my father. Tell him that I have gone to live the better life 
 here and to seek the best which is hereafter. Give him his 
 son's love and gratitude for all his intended kindness and 
 
THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 219- 
 
 let him know that all the treasures in the world will not 
 tempt me back again." Channa was loath to go, for he 
 wanted to share his master's life. He begged to accom- 
 pany Sidhartta, but the prince said " No, go and bear this 
 message, and aftenvards you may do as I have done." 
 Then Channa tried to mount Kantaka, but the faithful horse 
 would not suffer him. Again and again he tried him with 
 caressing words, but all in vain. The dumb servant looked 
 after his master who was walking along the dusty road in 
 his homely dress with the alms-bowl in his hand like a 
 beggar. Kantaka neighed loudly to attract his attention, 
 but the prince never turned or gave the slightest sign that 
 he had heard the faithful creature's cry. Then a great con- 
 vulsion passed through Kantaka's body and he fell dead to 
 the ground. Sadly Channa took up the prince's dress and 
 ornaments together with his sword, and walked back alone 
 to the royal city of Kapila. 
 
 There was consternation and dire dismay in the palace 
 when Sidhartta's departure was known ; and, when Channa 
 arrived days afterwards, a weary, sad-hearted, travel stained 
 man, and told his story, Sudhodana's grief knew no bounds. 
 He sent out proclamations to all the kings of India offering 
 them rich rewards if they would induce his son to come 
 back to his realm and his father's embrace. He dispatched 
 messengers from the royal household along all roads, charg- 
 ing them that, if they could do it without harm to his son, 
 they should bring him back. Meanwhile Sidhartta went 
 forward. By day he begged his food from door to door and 
 told the people who received him of the new life, and by 
 night he lay down anywhere in fields, by the roadside, or 
 in the jungle, where the wild beasts did him no harm* 
 Thus he travelled many hundreds of miles, passed on the- 
 
220 THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 
 
 "way by his father's messengers who did not know 
 hiiu, till he came to the great city of Rajagriha. It was 
 then a city of palaces surrounded by five hills, near which 
 flowed tributary streams of the great river Ganges. There 
 was no such city in all the rich kingdom of Bahar. Sidhartta 
 entered the city and begged from house to house, every- 
 where speaking gently of the new life in which there should 
 be neither old age nor disease nor death, and where joys 
 should never end. The people marvelled that so poor a 
 man should be so happy, and that one, who knew not where 
 his next meal would come from, should be so free from all 
 ■care and anxiety. The king Vimbasara heard of the recluse 
 and learned that his lodging was the shadow of a rock out- 
 side of the city. Thinking this might be the prince 
 Sidhartta, he visited the mendicant, and in his conversation 
 with him found that his guess was true. Thereupon he 
 took him to a hill and showed him Rajagriha and many 
 hundred towns and villages beside. " All these are mine," 
 he said, " and so are the kingdoms of Anga and Magadha 
 far beyond the eye, kingdoms which bring me in great 
 wealth. Come and uc my partner on the throne, to share 
 the possession of this great empire." But Sidhartta re- 
 plied, " Frailty and sorrow and death are here. I want no 
 earthly kingdom, but one from which these shall be forever 
 banished." So the king left him and Sidhartta went on his 
 way. 
 
 Now the life of Sidhartta after this, with some things that 
 are true and good, and alas, very, very many that are fool- 
 ish and heathenish, you may read some day in the Buddhist 
 books. After he had travelled over much of India, teach- 
 ing the people to live better lives and kill no living thing, to 
 ^ive up war and all that might injure others, and to do 
 
THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 221 
 
 everything with a view to the life that lies beyond, the time 
 of his death came. He had travelled with his faithful cousin 
 and follower, Ananda, over the northern mountains into the 
 country of Nepaul. When he reached the city of Kusinara 
 his strength failed him, and he said, " Ananda, I am weary; 
 let us rest ;" then laid him down to die. Many came to 
 visit him and hear his last words which were these : " Keep 
 my precepts, for I depart to the land where there is no old 
 age, no sickness, no death, and where joys bring no sor- 
 row." This Sidhartta is the Buddha that half of the people 
 of Asia worship to-day. ,. 
 
 Well, do I wish you to be like this Indian prince ? God 
 forbid. I would have you be as noble as he was in seeking 
 to know what is real and true ; as brave as he was in facing 
 all the sad sights, the trouble and sorrow that are in the 
 world ; as earnest as he was in persistently overcoming all 
 obstacles in the way of finding a better world ; as self-deny- 
 ing in giving up earthly things for the sake of the heavenly. 
 And I would have you be, like him, missionaries to go out 
 into the world even as poor teachers of religion, dependent 
 upon the gifts of those you teach, that you may impart the 
 true knowledge of earth and heaven which you have gained. 
 But the story of Sidhartta fails in this that it does not tell us 
 what is the ground of peace and holy living here, nor show 
 us our title to the blessed life hereafter. Sidhartta threw 
 away his father's idols, but he had no God to put in their 
 place. You have the maker of the universe, the God that is 
 very near since in Him we all live and move and have our 
 being, the Father who is in heaven. To Him belongs the 
 deathless world, the sorrowless sinless world you seek. The 
 
222 THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 
 
 prince of Kapila had no saviour but himself, for by his own 
 sufferings his followers pretend that he paid the penalty of 
 his sins and by his own good deeds they say he deserved 
 the better life. And we know, for our hearts condemn us, 
 that no sufferings of ours can take away sin, and that our 
 best and purest actions are not worthy to be named before 
 the God of holiness. The Buddhists know this to-day, if 
 they would but confess it, for they make Buddha or Sid- 
 hartta their saviour in their prayers. You have a Saviour 
 from death who is the Prince of Life ; a Saviour from sorrow, 
 who was the Man of Sorrows and the first Comforter, for the 
 Holy Ghost was called by Him " another Comforter"; a 
 Saviour, above all, from sin which is the cause of every evil, 
 for, though sinless and holy, " He was made sin for us that 
 we might be made the righteousness of God in Him." The 
 good Christian life you lead is not, like that of Sidhartta, one 
 of mere selfish seeking after the bliss of heaven, a piling up 
 of good works or merit against the day of account : but it is 
 following Jesus Christ, it is doing the will of the Father, 
 it is loving the brethren as our God loved and still loves us, 
 it is working out what God's grace works in, pouring forth 
 with a free full heart that treasure of Christ which the Holy 
 Ghost causes to flow from the throne of heaven into our 
 empty souls. It is very marvellous that the Indian prince 
 should have found so much truth, and that the truth he 
 found should have conquered the darkness of heathen idol- 
 atry in so many lands. How great then should be the vic- 
 tories of that fuller, perfect truth which God has revealed 
 through the ages, not to one man but to many, whose crown- 
 ing glory is the cross of His own son ! If Buddhism ever 
 shone with the semblance^of fine gold it has long ages since 
 became very dim, and so degraded is that creed to- day that 
 
THE PRINCE WHO GAVE UP A THRONE. 223 
 
 the very heathen point the finger of scorn at the lazy, super- 
 stitious, and often immoral priests, who pretend to be fol- 
 lowers of the son of Sudhodana. It has not raised a single 
 nation in the scale of righteousness, intelligence, and true 
 humanity. A poet has called it the light of Asia j but, outside 
 of the story of Sidhartta's life, not even history can tell us of 
 a people whom it made happy and good. Then let us thank 
 God for all that He teaches us ; for all that He enables us 
 to learn, in our minds, by the use of the powers He has 
 given, and above all by His Holy Word and Spirit ; thank 
 Him for what is good in Sidhartta's life and doctrine, and in 
 those of all the world's teachers ; but let us bless Him for 
 the mercy which gave to us *' the shining light, that shineth 
 more and more unto the perfect day." This we will learn 
 from Sidhartta's story, " Love not tne world, neither the 
 things that are in the world. The world passeth away and 
 the lust thereof : but he that doeth the will of God abideth 
 forever." 
 
//, M 
 
 XI. 
 
 IS 
 
XI, 
 
 " And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness compre- 
 hended it not." — John I. 5. 
 
 The southern part of Peru, where Potosi stands the highest 
 city in the world, and the neighboring parts of the great 
 empire of Brazil are rich in silver and gold and precious 
 gems. In the old days, when the Indians had these countries 
 to themselves, they used to wash the gold out of the river 
 sands and pick lumps of silver off the mountain sides. Thus 
 they found plenty for all their wants, and stored up enough to 
 make the Spaniards, who took their country from them, very 
 rich. But when these Spaniards learned where their Indian 
 subjects had got the silver and gold and had seen the 
 places with their own eyes, they were not content to wash 
 the sands and pick up loose pieces of precious metal from 
 the surface of the ground. They made up their minds to 
 dig into the heart of the mountains and into the depths of 
 the earth for what they seemed to love better than all things 
 beside. Not with their own hands did they do this work, but 
 by those of the poor Peruvians whom they robbed of their 
 liberty as well as of their land. So thousands of the natives 
 were armed with pickaxe, spade, and crowbar, and sent to 
 make mines, to dig great pits in the ground, and cut out 
 long tunnels and passages stretching in every direction 
 where there was a sign that treasures might be found. 
 
228 THE PERUVIAN BROTUEm. 
 
 When these first began their work they saw the light of day 
 shining down upon them, but, as they went on making the 
 tnnnels long, they came to a region of thick darkness where 
 torches and lamps were their only guides. The carriers 
 brought the ore to the foot of the mine and often caught a 
 glimpse of sunlight, but those who worked with pick and 
 spade and those who piled the loads far in the bowels of the 
 earth had to content themselves with the dismal flicker of 
 the lamps by night and by day alike. There were soldiers 
 on guard at the entrance to the mine and overseers keeping 
 watch below continually, so that no one of the captive work- 
 men might escape from his life of toil and slavery. 
 
 Among those who were carried away from their homes 
 to work in the mines was an Indian named Topa-Curi, 
 whose forefathers had been kings but who now, like 
 all his countrymen, was very poor. When he was taken 
 away, his wife, Mama-Micay, prayed that she might be 
 allowed to go with her husband and to take with her 
 their two infant boys, Huascar and Titu. Whether the 
 overseer was a kind man, or whether he thought that he 
 might get some work out of the wife and more work out 
 of the husband by giving her this permission, we cannot 
 say, but Mama-Micay was allowed to go and bury herselfin 
 the mine where Topa-Curi laboured. She said good-bye to 
 the sunlight and the fields, carried her little children down 
 the steep, long ladders, and, after what seemed the longest 
 journey she had ever taken in her life, came to the place in 
 the darkness which was henceforth to be her home. The 
 babies were too young to know anything of the bright world 
 they had left behind them, yet only when she thought of 
 them did the fond mother and loving wife regret that she 
 had made such a choice. 
 
THE PERUVIAN HHOTUERS. 229 
 
 It was a weary life, that of the mine. Years and weeks 
 and days were all alike, nor indeed could the labourers tell 
 when it was day and when night, for there was nothing to 
 •distinguish them. But Mama-Micay cheered her husband 
 at his toil, and often did they snatch a few hours that should 
 have been spent in sleep, to watch with fond eyes their 
 <:hildren at play. As these grew up, their father and mother 
 spoke much to the boys and tried to teach them other things 
 than those they saw in the mine. They told them of the 
 fresh, clear air and the healthful winds that blow from one 
 «nd of heaven to the other ; of the wide expanse of field and 
 plain, of the green grass, the trees and flowers, of the spor- 
 tive llamas that played like goats upon the mountain sides, 
 of the brilliant plumage of the birds and the thousands of 
 busy insects that filled the world with life. But most of all 
 they tried to make them know the great vaulted sky over- 
 head, so far above that no eye could reach its blue depths, 
 and stretching away on every side till it was lost to sight in 
 the long, long di:=;tance. They told the boys of the lights of 
 that sky and of the earth beneath, of the bright sun that 
 rose in early morning among rosy clouds and filled the 
 world all day with his golden radiance till he sank at night in 
 the purple west, and then of the pale lady moon and all her 
 glittering train of stars lighting up the dimness between sun- 
 set and sunrise again. 
 
 The boys listened eagerly to all that was told them, but 
 they did not understand. They had never seen since they 
 began to think anything but the black mine and the grimy 
 workers, the shining metal and the smoky lamps. When 
 they tried to picture to themselves the sun and moon and 
 stars, they only saw some round things a little brighter 
 than silver and not so yellow and smoky as the lamps. Of 
 
230 THE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 
 
 the wide earth and sky they could form no picture at all, 
 since they had never seen anything but narrow passages 
 walled all around with solid earth and stone. Bats and 
 mice they had seen, and besides human beings they were 
 the only living things which helped them to think of ihe 
 busy and beautiful life above. Topa-Curi and Mama-Micay 
 almost gave up in despair their efforts to teach the children 
 about the world to which they belonged, when they saw how 
 impossible it was for them to understand something the like 
 of which they had never seen. They begged the carriers to 
 bring a flower, a leaf, a blade of grass, or an insect from 
 the mouth of the mine, anything that belonged to the 
 upper world, and with these they tried to teach the boys 
 instead of teaching them by words. The boys handled the 
 living things and examined them by the light of the miners^ 
 lamps, wondering much at what they saw. Huascar 
 seemed to understand, and showed that he did by wishing 
 earnestly to go to the place from which the flowers came, 
 but Titu, when they faded in the sickly air of the mine and 
 lost their beauty, threw them away, and went to play among 
 the heaps of broken rock and stones. 
 
 The two brothers had grown to be big boys. The over- 
 seer of the gallery in which their father and mother worked 
 saw them, and said they must work also for their daily 
 bread. So they helped their mother to pile the ore out of 
 the rock into the baskets in which it was carried away. 
 They noticed that she needed all their help and did not 
 seem able to work as she had done ; and one day or nighty 
 for they could not tell which it was, after the overseer had 
 spoken roughly to her because she was so slow and she 
 had tried to labour as before, she suddenly staggered and 
 fell to the ground. Topa-Curi carried his senseless wife 
 
THE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 23 1 
 
 away to the little corner which was all their home, and he 
 and the boys stayed with her for the few hours she lived. 
 Many things she said, but most of all her sayings were to 
 the children, that they should find and live in the light of 
 day. So she died, and, while broken-hearted Topa-Curi 
 went back to his toil, the strange hands of the carriers 
 placed her dead body upon their loads and bore it away to 
 the mouth of the mine. Then for the first time since 
 Mama-Micay had entered her living tomb the light of 
 heaven shone upon her, but received no answer from the 
 sightless e)'es ; the warm sun's rays fell upon her cheek but 
 it was cold in death. 
 
 It was not long till Topa-Curi followed his wife. In his 
 last illness, which was very short and the only one that 
 gained him rest from labour, he spoke much to his boys of 
 the world above ground. Again with his feeble breath he 
 worked hard to make them understand what daylight is, 
 and told them in a whisper, so that none might hear, of 
 something he had seen. One day working in another gal- 
 leiy, which was now deserted because the ore failed, he 
 had seen far away a little patch of white clear light which 
 he knew must be the light of heaven, the light of the sun. 
 He told the boys how to find this gallery, and besought 
 them earnestly, for their own good, to put forth all their 
 strength to make that light their own. " Don't believe in 
 any light you find here," he said ; " the true light is that 
 which shines from without." Then Huascar ;'.nd Titu were 
 left alone, two motherless, fatherless orphans, to toil in the 
 gloomy mine which had killed their parents. Some of the 
 enslaved miners were kind to them, because their father and 
 mother had been gentle and good and had come of a royal 
 race, but others behaved very differently towards the 
 
4it THE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 
 
 brothers because they had been cruelly treated themselves, 
 and Spanish brutality had almost made them brutes. Yet 
 with these poor people, good or bad, kind or unkind, they 
 had to live, to work with them when the overseer said it was 
 day, to sleep with them when he called it night. 
 
 The boys had always been different in their characters 
 and ways, even while their parents were alive and taught 
 them the same lessons. Now that their parents were gone, 
 the difference was more marked. Huascar liked to be 
 much alone that he might think of what had been told him, 
 and when he sought the company of others it was that of 
 those who loved to speak of his father and mother whose 
 friends they were. Titu wished to be friends with every- 
 body. He was in the mine, and he was going to make the 
 best of it. Though not so good a workman as Huascar he 
 managed to please the overseer, and by agreeing with all 
 that the worthless miners said, even when they half ridi- 
 culed his dead parents, he kept on good terms with them. 
 Of the upper world he never thought, but he longed to find 
 some treasure in the mine. Often Huascar would call him 
 aside and ask him if he remembered the counsels of his 
 dying mother and father, and if he were willing to go with 
 him in search of the light. Titu did not remember much, 
 for, though he grieved over the death of his best friends, he 
 had not paid great attention to their words. But he said 
 that he was willing and as anxious as Huascar to go in 
 search of the light. So they agreed that while their com- 
 panions were sleeping they would explore the deserted gal- 
 leries of the mine. 
 
 Before the boys could go forth to their search they had 
 to provide themselves with light for the way. The lamps 
 they could not take, for these were fastened to the walls 
 
THE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 233 
 
 and pillars and would be missed at once even if they 
 could be removed. But torches were used for occasional 
 visits to the dark galleries and many of them had been 
 tossed aside when only half burned. So, watching their 
 chance, Huascar and Titu gathered a number of these half- 
 burned torches and laid them together in a dark and secret 
 place. Then one night quietly they rose from the sides of 
 their sleeping neighbours, and brought some torches from the 
 hiding place. Tremblingly, for fear of being seen, they lit 
 one at the most distant lamp and hurried noiselessly to- 
 wards the deserted tunnel. That night they found nothing, 
 nor the next, nor the next again. But every night they 
 went farther and farther, until they knew the ground so well 
 that, but for the sake of finding something new, they could 
 have gone over it in the dark. They were wise enough 
 also to leave torches all along the way as far as they had 
 gone, to help them in future search. 
 
 One day they were nearly discovered. The Spanish gover- 
 nor with his wife and many attendants, all richly dressed and 
 ornamented, came to see the mine. They walked through the 
 lighted galleries where they could see the work going on. 
 Pieces of silver were struck from the rock and handed to 
 them. They even spoke to the slaves about their life, and, 
 as the overseers and masters of the mine were looking on, 
 these poor creatures were obliged to say nothing of its hard- 
 ships and misery. Then the governor asked if there was 
 anything more to see and was told about the deserted tun- 
 nels. The ladies all wished to see these, so the overseer 
 called Huascar and Titu, with two other lads, and bade them 
 take torches and go on before the party. With fear and 
 trembling Huascar and Titu went forward, trying all the way 
 to prevent anyone seeing the half-burned torches they had 
 
234 THE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 
 
 laid here and there along the road, and pretending not to 
 know the way in which they were going. But nobody noticed 
 anything ; the overseer was quite satisfied ; and the haughty 
 governor's lady even thanked the boys for lighting up the 
 darkness before her. Then the party went back again to 
 the welcome light of the sun, and the dreary life of the mine 
 went on as before. 
 
 Huascar was happy that night. One of the ladies 
 whose face had pleased him the best had let a flower fall 
 out of her hand on the way. Huascar had picked up the 
 flower and handed it to her, but she had said, " Keep it 
 boy ; you don't see many flowers here ; they don't grow in 
 these dismal mines." So Huascar kept the flower, a lovely 
 blossom pure waxy white with shining dark green leaves, 
 and such a delicate perfume that it filled his heart with joy, 
 and made his longing tenfold greater to return to the world 
 from which it had come. He fell asleep with the flower 
 upon his breast and dreamed sweet dreams of light and 
 beauty. Titu was awake. He could not sleep. He had 
 not received anything, but his eye had caught a gleam of 
 light as he had carried his torch along the dark corridors^ 
 What was it ? He resolved to find out and to find out 
 alone. Let Huascar sleep with his worthless flower ; he 
 would find the light his father and mother had spoken 
 of so often, and would perhaps allow his brother to see 
 it in his hands. He went away in the darkness, for he 
 knew the road and feared to light a torch lest he might 
 be surprised and lose his treasure. Groping his way along 
 the silent deserted galleries, keeping his eyes fixed upon the 
 ground, he came at length near the spot where he had seen 
 the gleam. Yes, there it was ; he saw the same gleam be- 
 fore him. And, as he went forward, it shone brighter with 
 
THE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 235 
 
 a thin clear beautiful light, all unlike the yellow flare of 
 lamp and torch. He knelt beside it and saw that it was- 
 not one light but many, though two were larger and brighter 
 than all the others. He put his hand over them to feel if 
 they could burn, but no, the lights were cold. He touched 
 them ; they were hard as stone. He picked one up and all 
 the others came with it and sparkled over his hand. He 
 gazed upon his treasures and muttered joyfully to himself, 
 " I have found the lights, the sun and moon and stars j I am 
 in the world that my father and mother told me to seek." 
 They shed light on his hands, these gems, but none upon 
 his path. Again and again, as he looked at them, he struck 
 his head and feet against the ragged walls of the gallery, and 
 when he reached his brother's side both head and feet were, 
 bleeding with many a wound. Still his treasure comforted 
 him as he placed it carefully in his bosom and covered it 
 with his rags for fear that any eye might catch its gleam. 
 And all this time Huascar lay with the sweet flower all ex- 
 posed upon his breast and a smile of quiet gladness on his 
 half-parted lips. 
 
 When the voice of the overseer called them to work, the 
 two boys arose, Huascar refreshed and cheerful, Titu tired, 
 and sullen. The flower which Huascar carried had begun, 
 to droop, but its fragrance seemed to be even sweeter than 
 before. Titu's diamonds, for such they were, did him np- 
 good, for their light was hidden in the folds of his ragged, 
 clothes, and a great fear was in his heart lest they should, 
 be taken from him. When night came he was too weary 
 for the search that Huascar proposed, but, when he thought 
 his brother was asleep, he stole away to the entrance of the- 
 first deserted gallery, and there sat down in the darkness to- 
 look at his treasures. Soon he heard the sound of footsteps. 
 
236 THE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 
 
 falling quietly, and his heart almost stopped beating, so ter- 
 rified was he at the thought of being found out. He lay 
 very quiet, however, and at last was overjoyed to hear a 
 voice which he knew well, softly calling " Titu, where are 
 you?" Titu answered as softly, and then Huascar came 
 and sat down by his side. Titu said "We need not search 
 any more for the sun and moon and stars, for I have found 
 them." So he took the diamonds out of their wrappings 
 and showed them to his brother sparkling upon his hand. 
 But he was disappointed to see that their light was paler 
 and thinner than it was the night before, although he did 
 not tell this to Huascar. " There," he said, pointing to the 
 largest, ** is the sun, and this is the moon, and these little 
 ■ones are the stars, for their light is quite different from the 
 lights of the mine, and no one needs to light them because 
 they are always shining." Huascar answered, " O my poor 
 brother, these are not what our father and mother told us 
 about. I don't know what they are, though they are very 
 beautiful , but if they were the sun and moon and stars 
 they would show us the flowers and the living creatures and 
 the great wide earth and sky. Do you not remember how 
 our father said : — Don't believe in any light you find here ; 
 for the true light shines from without ? Let us still go in 
 search of that light ?" But Titu would not. He insisted 
 that he had found what his parents had bidden him seek 
 for, and that these shining things were enough to make him 
 happy. Then he looked at the diamonds again, and 
 pressed their cold hard sides to his cheeks and lips, as if to 
 thank them that they had come to lighten his darkness. 
 After this the two brothers stole back quietly to their 
 wretched bed and fell asleep. 
 
 Next day there was a great commotion in the mine. The 
 
THt: PERUVIAN BROTHERS. H^f 
 
 chief officer was there and by his side walked a gaily-dressed 
 soldier, one of the Governor's aids. They visited all the 
 galleries and passages and carefully searched those through 
 which the Governor's party had passed two days before. 
 When they found nothing, they told the overseers to let all 
 the workmen know that the Governor's lady had lost her 
 diamond bracelet of great value somewhere in the mine, 
 and that whoever found it would be richly rewarded if he 
 were a freeman, and if he were a slave would receive his 
 liberty. As soon as this was made known, everybody was 
 eager to begin the search except the two brothers. One of 
 them knew where it was and rejoiced in 'le thought that it 
 would buy his brother's freedom ; the other had it wrapped 
 up in his rags and trembled to think that it might be taken 
 away. While they were together, pretending to help their 
 companions in the search, Huascar begged Titu to give the 
 bracelet to the chief officer who was still not far away, and 
 gain his liberty. He tried to make him understand how 
 beautiful was the world into which this liberty would bring 
 him, and prayed him for his mother's sake to take advan- 
 tage of his great good fortune, and by it win something 
 better still. But poor Titu would not listen. He said he 
 had no bracelet, but the sun and moon and stars, and these 
 he would give up to nobody. So for fear that the people 
 would suspect them if they talked too long together, Huas- 
 car left his brother and went on as far as he could into the 
 dark galleries. 
 
 The diamond bracelet was not found that day. When 
 all the seekers came back empty-handed, Huascar heard the 
 chief officer instruct the overseers to question every man, 
 woman, and child in the mines about it early the next 
 morning, and to have them thoroughly searched lest it 
 
238 THE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 
 
 should be hidden in their clothing. Then Huascar knew 
 that nothing could save his brother, for instead of a reward 
 he would be severely punished and perhaps put to death, 
 for the law was then very cruel towards thieves who were 
 slaves. He went to Titu, and with tears in his eyes told 
 what he had heard, and of the dreadful fate which awaited 
 him. Titu was frightened, but he would not part with his 
 treasure. Already he had told a lie in saying to the over- 
 seer, when he returned from the search, that he had found 
 nothing. Now he resolved to go and hide the diamonds in 
 a place where nobody would dream of looking. Huascar 
 reasoned with him a long time, but all to no effect. Then 
 he sorrowfully turned away, only a little comforted to think 
 that at least he had warned his brother and saved his life. 
 
 That night Titu went away as early as possible along the 
 deserted galleries with his treasure. He went without a liglit, 
 for he knew the way even better than when he found his 
 treasure, and came at lar-t to a place near where two galleries 
 met in the form of a cross. There, all unsuspecting, he sat 
 down to look at his shining stones before putting them away 
 in a crevice of the rock just above his head. He fondled 
 them as if they were alive, and bent his head over them to 
 admire their fading brilliance amid the darkness. Suddenly 
 he heard a foot-fall. " It is that meddling Huascar," he said 
 to himself, for he could see no light and knew that only he 
 and his brother could get on without one. So he remained 
 as he was, sitting on the ground with the diamonds still in 
 his lap, when in a moment the light of a torch flashed upon 
 him round the corner of the cross gallery, and in another 
 instant a man's strong clutch was at his throat. He knew 
 the man to be one of the worst in all the mine, and yet Titu 
 thought he had made him his friend. " Give me that 
 
THE PERUVIAN DliOTHERS. 239 
 
 bracelet !" said the man, as he still kept his hand upon the 
 boy's throat and with the other held the torch near his face. 
 Titu wrenched himself away and said " I have no bracelet, 
 but the sun, moon and stars that my father and mother bade 
 me seek long ago, and these I will never give up." ** You 
 are a little fool," answered the wicked fellow, " and your 
 parents were fools before you. That is the noble lady's 
 diamond bracelet, and you must give it me at once, for before 
 morning it must win me my freedom." Titu turned to run, 
 but in a moment his enemy was upon him again. The boy 
 struggled bravely and the man held on firmly, for he too was 
 striving for a great boon. His torch he allowed to fall on 
 the ground, so that, with two hands free, he might be better 
 able to rob the lad of his treasure. But Titu clutched it in 
 his grasp and all the strong man's power could not wrench 
 the bracelet away. Maddened at last by the boy's courage 
 and stubbornness, he lifted him in his arms and dashed him 
 with all his force against the rocky wall, not once only but 
 again and again. Then he laid the senseless body on the 
 ground and, opening the limp fingers, took away the prize 
 for which the boy had given his young life. Then he went 
 to pick up his torch, but during the contest it had burned 
 away rapidly along its whole length, and now there was no 
 place by which it could be held. With a curse upon the boy 
 and another on the torch he hastened as fast as he could in 
 the darkness towards the inhabited part of the mine. 
 
 In the meanwhile Huascar lay awake, wondering why his 
 brother staid away so long. He feared that some of the 
 workmen suspected them, and especially one who, on 
 account of his wickedness, was nicknamed Supay, a Peru- 
 vian word that means " the evil spirit." What was his horror, 
 then, when he looked over the forms of his sleeping com- 
 
240 THE PEliUVfAy nitOTUERS. 
 
 panions and saw that Supay's place was vacant. Hardly 
 knowing what he did, he arose and hurried along tlie galleries 
 in search of his brother. He had not gone very far when he 
 heard rapid footsteps coming nearer at every moment, until 
 at last with a loud cry a man struck against his outstretclied 
 hand, and with chattering teeth rushed past him. It was a 
 man, not Titu, he knew, and perhaps it was Supay. Faster 
 and faster Huascar went on till he saw the smouldering torch 
 upon the ground, and beside it the body of his brother. He 
 raised the body in his arms and spoke to Titu, but got no 
 answer. He saw that it was covered with blood, the poor 
 head terribly bruised, the eyes fixed and staring. Then he 
 knew the truth : Titu was dead and Supay had killed him. 
 Alas ! that brother whom he loved so well even in death, he 
 could do nothing for him, could not even dig his grave in the 
 hard rocky mine. Oh ! if he had only been more diligent, if 
 he had found the true light, this terrible thing would not 
 liave happened ! Then he laid his brother's body quietly 
 down, wiped tlie blood from his face, folded the lifeless arms 
 iipon liis breast, and kissed Titu his last good-night. 
 
 Huascar found a torch and lit it at the embers of the one 
 which Supay had dropped. Then away he went along the 
 gallery his father had told him of, seeking for the light not on 
 the ground but overhead. He came at last to the end of 
 the long passage. It did not end in a level wall like others 
 he had seen, but the floor seemed to rise step by step till, not 
 far from the height of the roof, a low, narrow opening 
 appeared half blocked up with loose stones and masses of 
 rock. These he tore away and gently placed upon the steps 
 below, thrusting the end of his torch into a crack in the floor 
 to leave both hands free for the work. All the time he kept 
 his eye fixed upon a greyish streak which he saw between 
 
V 
 
 WE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 24I 
 
 the Stones, and in whicli he thought once or twice that he 
 could notice a little golden twinkle. His torch was burning 
 down quickly and he was sure that the overseers were calling 
 the miners to work, but they were still far away from him, 
 and between lay his murdered brother. The gray streak 
 changed ; it became a dull-red colour, and then turned into 
 bright gold, but still it was only a streak between two great 
 stones. He reached these stones at length, but they would 
 not move. Then he gave one a push outwards to loosen it ; 
 suddenly it rolled away from his liands, the golden glory of 
 the morning light filled its place, and for the first time fell 
 upon Huascar's conscious eyes. 
 
 There was no time for delay. Huascar heard the sound of 
 voices and of heavy feet resounding through the echoing 
 galleries. They were far away yet, but every moment would 
 bring them nearer. How glad he was that the stone, too 
 heavy for him to lift or guide, had rolled outwards and not 
 in. Hastily he scrambled on hands and knees through the 
 opening, came out into the light of day, and then, all dazzled 
 by its splendour and exhausted by his labours, fell fainting 
 to the ground and rolled some yards down the mountain side. 
 The overseers did not find him nor even the passage by which 
 he escaped. They only found the dead body of poor Titu 
 and knew that he had been murdered. When Huascar 
 came out of his faint and opened his eyes, he saw all that his 
 parents had told him, such a beautiful fairy land as he 
 never had dreamed of even in his brightest dreams. But he 
 saw more than the wide earth and over-arching sky, the 
 glorious Sim that his forefathers used to worship as a god, and 
 the blue rivers in the valleys in which he was reflected as in 
 a mirror. There was an aged man bending over him, a man 
 with silvery hair and kindly face, dressed in a long black robe, 
 
 16 
 
242 THE PERUVIAN BROTHERS, 
 
 who looked as if he loved the boy. As Huascar had never 
 seen anyone but Topa-Curi whose gaze was so tender and 
 kind, he lifted up his hiinds to the aged stranger and said '* My 
 father." The old priest answered, '* My poor boy, you could 
 not have spoken better ; come with me and I will be your 
 father." Then Huascar arose and leaning on his new father's 
 arm walked down the mountain side through the beautiful 
 summer morning to iiis home. 
 
 He wanted nothing now but food enough to keep him 
 alive, for his soul was filled and more than satisfied with the 
 new world he had found. True, he would fain have had his 
 father and mother there, although the old priest told him they 
 were in a better place ; and Titu, yes, he would willingly 
 have remained a slave forever, if Titu could only have enjoyed 
 this blessed life in his stead. But he must sit at the priest's 
 table, and, though it bore humble fare, it was princely in 
 Huascar' s judgment and to his taste compared with that of 
 the mine. New clothes too he must have, and so the old 
 ones must be taken off and thrown away. When the clean 
 light summer dress came, and Huascar threw off his dirty 
 rags which he had worn so many years that he might put it 
 on, something that had lain in his breast fell to the ground. 
 He thought it was only a piece of stone that had found its 
 way there while he was creeping through the opening by 
 which he escaped. But the old priest's eye fell upon it and he 
 picked it up ; it was the diamond bracelet. The murderer, 
 Supay, carrying it in his hand had flung it unwittingly from 
 him in his fright at meeting Huascar, and there in the bosom 
 of his coarse shirt it had lain ever since. The priest asked 
 him whence it came, and Huascar told him all the sad story 
 of his brother's delusion and dreadful death. 
 
 The boy slept all night in a comfortable bed, and a pleas- 
 
THE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 243 
 
 ant, restful sleep it was. In the morning he awoke with the 
 singing of the birds, and hurried out into the pleasant light 
 of day to gather wayside flowers. That day he took the old 
 priest's hand, and together they went in search of a carriage. 
 When they had found one they travelled in it along level 
 roads, past fields and woods and by rocky mountain sides, 
 till they came to the Governor's palace. The Governor knew 
 the priest and respected him for his goodness, so that he did 
 not delay seeing him when he called. The priest gave him 
 the diamond bracelet and told him all the story which he had 
 learned from Huascar. Then the Governor spoke kindly to 
 Huascar, who trembled for fear that he would be sent back 
 to the darkness, and asked him many questions about his 
 father and mother and the life of the mine and his dead 
 brother Titu. The frightened boy answered all the questions 
 so honestly and truthfully that the Governor turned to his 
 old friend and said, " Train this good lad up for me. I ill 
 be at the expense of his education ; and when he is old 
 enough he shall be my inspector of mines to save others 
 from the terrible wrongs that he has known." So the old 
 priest's heart was glad and Huascar's joy knew no bounds. 
 
 While they were talking, the Governor's lady with some 
 ladies and officers of their court came in, because they had 
 heard that the famous bracelet was found. Huascar had to 
 tell his story over again, while all listened with great attention. 
 When they heard how poor Titu mistook the diamonds for 
 the sun, moon and stars, the officers and some of the ladies 
 laughed heartily, but the Governor did not laugh, nor his 
 lady, nor she who had given Huascar the flower ; and the 
 old priest said, " It is the saddest thing I have ever 
 known, although something like it happens every day." The 
 ladies answered, ** How could the poor boy know any better, 
 
244 'tHE PERUVIAN BROTHERS. 
 
 seeing he never knew the light ?" But again the old priest 
 said, " Huascar never saw the light to know it, yet he knew 
 better. He was told, and he believed, that the light does not 
 lie in the darkness but shines down into it from above. Thus 
 he found the blessed light and rejoices in it to-day." 
 
 Taught by the kind old priest who loved him as a son, 
 Huascar grew up to be a wise and good man. The Governor 
 fulfilled his promise and made him inspector of mines. He 
 saved the children by bringing them all up into the light of day, 
 and even the men and women were allowed, under his man- 
 agement, to leave their gloomy abodes when they wished and 
 enjoy the pleasures of the life above. At the mouth of the 
 mine in which he had lived and toiled he placed a monument 
 over Titu's grave, on which were the words : " He never knew 
 the light of which he had been told ; and he died, because he 
 mistook the treasures of earth for the glory of heaven." 
 
 You may think it strange that boys should have been so 
 ignorant of the world we know so well as to have no idea of 
 the heavenly bodies and the green earth on which they shine. 
 Yet how many wise men even in this world are so shut up 
 by education and prejudice and ignorance of the word of 
 God th^ . they have no notion of the true light which lighteth 
 every man that cometh into the world. Those who find their 
 chief enjoyments in earthly things have their eyes blinded to 
 heavenly things. Wealth and fame, art and science, all the 
 desirable things of this earth cannot lead into the light of 
 God's countenance or open the gate of that heaven where 
 there are pleasures for evermore. They are merely play- 
 things, brilliant indeed with a lustre that comes from God "" " 
 
 whose creatures they are and who gives us all things richly \ 
 
 ■ ,:;■.,,■■ ■ " M 
 
THE PERUVfAN BROTHERS. 245 
 
 to enjoy, but toys all the same. Sought after and used apart 
 from God their very brilliancy fades, they become the causes 
 •of cares, jealousies, strifes, bloodshed and many other evils. 
 The end of these things is death. Better grope all one's 
 earthly life in the darkness of the world to find the light at 
 last, than rest contentedly in the darkness admiring the 
 feeble gleam of some worldly treasure. But we aeed not 
 grope so -ong. " He that seeketh findeth," said the Light of 
 men. It was He also who said, " He that doeth truth cometh to 
 the light." The one lad of the story did truth, the other did 
 not. The first believed the story cf his parents who had 
 seen the light ; the second was wise in his own conceit. Let 
 us then believe the record that God has given and act ac- 
 cording to that belief. This is doing truth. That record is 
 confirmed by numberless witnesses whose voices are all 
 round about us in the page of history and the book of nature, 
 in the society of our friends and the teachings of our own con- 
 sciences. All direct us towards Him who said, " I am 
 the light of the world ; he that foUoweth me shall not walk 
 an darkness but shall have the light of life." Find Christ, 
 and in Him the light of God's countenance will be lifted up 
 upon you, making this present world full of highest joy and 
 opening broad views into the eternal glory. 
 
XII. 
 
 She |BTan« mne&am. 
 
XII. 
 
 *' Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven." — Matthew vi. 20. 
 
 Everybody who has read the Bible knows about the Red 
 Sea which the Israelites crossed and where Pharoah and 
 his host were drowned. Strange to say, some people who 
 know very little about the Bible have stories that tell of this 
 sea, stories which were carried by their fathers, hundreds 
 and hundreds of years ago, from an old far off home in the 
 east. In the mountain range of the Pyrenees between 
 France and Spain live the Basques, a strange people, who 
 speak a language unlike any other that is spoken in Europe. 
 They have many old talec which have come down to those 
 who are now living from a time when the Basques had no 
 Bible and when they worshipped heathen gods. Some of 
 these stories are about the Red Sea and its wonderful 
 islands ever green and fair, and their enchanted cities with 
 walls of brass and palaces of gold. But none of these 
 stories are as wonderful or as true as the Jewish one I am 
 going to tell. 
 
 The Red Sea begins at the south between Abyssinia in 
 Africa and the great country of Arabia, where it meets the 
 Indian ocean. It runs upwards between Egypt and Arabia 
 till it comes to a place not very far to the south of Pales- 
 tine, where a three cornered piece of rocky land juts out 
 and seems to stop the way. This three cornered peninsula 
 
#5© THE ISLAND KINGDOM. 
 
 is the land of Sinai where the children of Israel wandered 
 forty years and where God gave the law to Moses. It 
 divides the Red Sea into two long gulfs, one of which runs 
 up into Egypt, and the other, into Arabia. The one that 
 borders the land of Egypt is called the Gulf of Suez and is 
 the branch of the Red Sea which Moses and the Israelites 
 crossed. And the other, between Sinai and Arabia, now- 
 called the Gulf of Akaba, is the one to which my story 
 belongs. At the head of this gulf there were in the old days 
 two seaport towns called Elath and Ezion-geber. So famous 
 was the first of these that it used to give name to the gulf 
 itself, which was called the Gulf of Elath. AVe do not 
 know who built these towns, but for a long time they were 
 in the possession of the Edomites, whose first father was 
 Esau the son of Isaac. King David of Israel drove the 
 Edomites out and took the towns to himself. His son 
 Solomon built many ships in them, ships that sailed for him 
 to Arabia and Ethiopia and far away into the Indian ocean, 
 some people think even beyond India, bringing back gold 
 and silver, precious woods and stones, ivory and apes and 
 peacocks. Sixty years after Solomon was dead, Jehosha- 
 phat, a good prince, became king of Judah, while the wicked 
 Ahab ruled over Israel. He also built a fleet, but a great 
 storm arose at Ezion-geber which dashed his ships upon a 
 rocky reef just outside of the harbour, so that they could not 
 go in search of gold When Jehoshaphat died, his wicked 
 son Jehoram took his place. He had married a heathen 
 wife, the daughter of Ahab, and tried to make the Jews wor- 
 shippers of the idols which his queen served. So God's hand 
 was taken away from him and the Edomites rebelled and 
 got back the seaport towns which David had captured a 
 hundred and fifty years before. Eighty years the Edomites 
 
THE ISLAND KINGDOM. a$t 
 
 kept the gates of the sea, and then another good king of the 
 Jews, named Uzziah, defeated them in battle and became 
 master of Elath, which he built up and made stronger than 
 ever. But he loved war and farming better than the free 
 life of the sea, so that there was no great sending out of 
 ships in his day. Ahaz, the grandson of Jotham, was a 
 wicked king. In his reign Rezin, the king of Syria, drove 
 the Jews away from the sea, but he kept his conquest for a 
 very short time. Tiglath Pileser, the great king of Assyria^ 
 came against him and killed him, so the gulf of Elath and 
 its towns became part of the great Assyrian empire. 
 
 Now, in the old happy days when the Israelites were mas- 
 ters of Elath, many rich merchants dwelt there. The chief 
 of them was one Abiad to whom all the others were subject, 
 because of his great wealth and remarkable wisdom. He 
 had many servants in his employ who waited in his house^ 
 tilled his land, built his ships, and sailed to distant lands in his 
 service. But among them all there was one whom he loved as 
 a son, although he was young and had never been tried with 
 great labours. His name was Benadam. Why Abiad 
 should have chosen Benadam above all his other servants no 
 one can tell, but certain it is that the rich merchant dearly 
 loved the young man and was willing to do great things for 
 him. One day he called the servant to him and said, 
 " Benadam, I give you your freedom, and, as your freedom 
 would be useless to you alone, I give you with it a ship 
 in which you may go to distant lands and trade and gain 
 great treasures. All you gain will be your own. All that I 
 ask is that you will come and see one who loves you as a 
 father loves his son and tell him of your success that he may 
 rejoice with you in it." Benadam was full of joy at the ti- 
 dings. He went down to the harbour of Elath and saw the 
 
252 THE ISLAND KINO DOM. 
 
 ship which his master had so generously given him. There 
 was no such beautiful vessel in all Abiad's fleet. With her 
 sharp prow and sloping masts and snowy sails, her seats for 
 a hundred rowers, her gem of a cabin, and deep hull able to 
 hold a great deal of treasure, it was the finest merchant- 
 man in all the harbour. A well trained crew manned the 
 ship and were kept in strict discipline by the captain, whose 
 name was Deror. Benadam was at first a little afraid of 
 Deror. He was very confident and bold but he did not 
 seem to know very much. All the sailors had to obey him, 
 although some of them did so in a v ery grudging way, as if 
 they were not sure that his orders were the best. However, 
 when the new owner of the vessel and Captain Deror came 
 to talk with each other, Benadam's doubts were removed, 
 and he thought he had got a very clever and brave man for 
 chief officer of his ship. If he had only noticed Hosah the 
 helmsman, he would have seen that he had no confidence 
 in the captain -, but although he knew that Hosah was a 
 good pilot and that Abiad esteemed him very highly, Ben- 
 adam never dreamed of preferring his opinion to that of his 
 new friend Deror. 
 
 On a pleasant morning the ship left the harbour, bound 
 on a trading voyage to distant lands. The good merchant 
 Abiad came down to see Benadam off, and gave him 
 at parting charts of the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean be- , 
 yond. " Study these charts with Deror," he said, " and 
 see that Hosah, or whoever else is helmsman, steers the ship 
 according to the courses laid down in them." Then he em- 
 braced his former slave and returned to the town. There 
 was not room enough to sail out of the port, so the rowers 
 took their places on the thwarts and pulled lustily at the 
 long sweeps till the vessel, large as she was, glided onwards 
 
THE JSLAyU KINilDOM. 253 
 
 like a living thing towards the open water. When the rocks 
 and shoals were passed and the way seemed clear and when 
 the favouring breeze blew gently, the snowy sails were 
 hoisted with much shouting and noise and the brave ship 
 bore away for the south. The voyage was a dangerous one. 
 Many ships had perished while undertaking it, because of 
 the great winds that blew down the gulf between the rocky 
 shores, and the stomiy waves they raised, and the sunken 
 rocks and coral reefs which seemed to lie everywhere in the 
 sailor's course. Yet it was very pleasant for Benadam as 
 the vessel moved gently onwards undf r the skilful guidance 
 of the pilot Hosah. On his right hand rose the rugged 
 rocky piles of Sinai, and, on his left, the mountain range 
 that skirts the great Arabian desert reared its peaks towards 
 the sky. There was grandeur in the land scenery but very 
 little quiet beauty. What was wanting in the land, how- 
 ever, the water supplied. Soon as the ship came near a 
 shallow place in the sea Benadam felt as if he were in a gar- 
 den, for the waters were dyed with colours 01' every hue 
 from the coral insects and sponges and sea-weeds and many 
 other living things of beautiful shape and tint which flour- 
 ished beneath the salt waves. Sometimes the shoals were 
 as green as a well kept grassy lawn ; sometimes yellow, 
 and then the sailors said that one of Solomon's fleets laden 
 with gold had sunk there ; and sometimes red as the roses 
 of Sharon or the seeds of the promegranate, so that Ben- 
 adam did not wonder at the name Red Sea. 
 
 Three days passed before the ship left the gulf and its 
 crew found themselves in the broader waters of the sea» 
 Looking back on the fourth day they saw the land of Sinai 
 fading from sight, although the white limestone cliffs at its 
 southern point still stood out in bright contrast with the deep 
 
^54 I'llf^ ISLAND KINGDOM. 
 
 blue waters at their base. On went the vessel past many 
 islands into broad open waters where all sight of land was 
 ■sometimes lost, and where, now and again, as il was neces- 
 sary to tack in the one direction or the other, the land of the 
 Pharaohs or the great desert home of the Arabian came in 
 view. The point at which Benadam wished to touch first of 
 all was a port in the Arabian land of Sheba, whose queen in 
 former days had come to hear the wisdom of Solomon. But 
 Sheba was still a thousand miles away, and a thousand miles 
 was a long voyage for ships to make in these old times. 
 There was not much danger now from reefs and shoals, for 
 ■the sea was a hundred and fifty miles wide from shore to 
 •shore, so that the pilot had plenty sea room. Yet as he had 
 ■no compass, for that was not found out till ages later, and as 
 he had to trust to the sun by day and the stars by night for 
 his reckoning in the open water, he was generally careful to 
 keep in sight of land. Still the favouring breeze from the 
 north continued to blow, and the rowers' backs and arms 
 were saved, while the sails carried Benadam and his fortunes 
 to the south. 
 
 Now as you near the land of Sheba the reefs become 
 •dangerous and there are very many islands, and such is the 
 ■state of the sea down to the point where it glides into the 
 ■ocean through a narrow channel. There in your maps you 
 will see how the shores of Arabia and Africa almost seem to 
 touch, as those of Western Africa and Europe do at the 
 Straits of Gibraltar. A month had passed, and the ship was 
 nearing this place of danger. Benadam had been examining 
 the charts which Abiad had given him, and so far Hosah, 
 the pilot, had been steering by their aid. Now he called 
 Deror, the captain, and consulted with him and Hosah about 
 their future course. As they were talking matters over, he 
 
TIIK ISLAND KISlUmM. 255 
 
 saw plainly that the captain did not like Hosah, and, more- 
 over, that he took to himself the credit of all the safe sailing 
 so iar, and wished to go forward as he pleased. Hosah 
 pointed to the chart and said — *' There is the course which 
 Abiad has laid down for us. If we do not follow it, we will 
 strike upon these rocks and shoals which he has marked 
 dangerous. I will follow these instructions." Then Deror 
 was angry. He answered, " I am captain here, and you 
 must steer as I direct. Do you think that Abiad has given 
 me charge of the ship for the purpose of obeying you, a 
 pilot ?" But Hosah replied gently, " I do not ask you to 
 follow my sayings, but the instructions of one who is wiser 
 than either of us. If we do not do so we must sufter." 
 Deror, however, would not listen to the pilot. He turned 
 •to Benadam and asked him if he were not captain of the 
 ship, and if hitherto he had any reason to be dissatisfied 
 with the way in which it was managed. The captain was 
 bold and blustering ; the pilot quiet and modest. So Ben- 
 adam, although he felt that he was not doing right, yielded 
 to the bold man and told Hosah to obey the captain and 
 steer according to his will and wisdom. The pilot gave no 
 answer but sorrowfully turned to his helm and stood tljere 
 with the chart before his eyes. 
 
 Benadam entered his cabin, and, as he hoped soon to arrive 
 in port, began to arrange in his mind what goods he should 
 exchange with the people of Sheba, and what articles he would 
 obtain from them to take back to Elath on his return voyage. 
 While he was busily engaged in this work he heard angry 
 voices overhead and a trampling of feet as if men were strug- 
 gling. Then he heard a heavy blow, as if some one were 
 struck with a deadly weapon, and a splash in the water that 
 sounded like a body falling into the sea, and, last of all but 
 
i jd THE ISLAND KINGDOM. 
 
 hardly a moment later, a faint voice crying " Beware of Deror.'^ 
 Then all was silent again save the voice of the captain calling 
 to his sailors to spread more sail. Benadam started from his 
 couch and ran on deck. '* Where is Hosah ?" he asked. 
 Deror replied, " The stupid fellow has fallen overboard, which 
 is just as well, for he would not let go the helm and was going 
 to take us miles out of our way." I'hen Benadam knew that 
 Deror had struck the (luiet pilot and had thrown him into 
 the sea. " Where are the charts?" he asked again, and the 
 captain answered, " Hosah must have taken them with him, 
 or they have been blown away by the wind." And truly the 
 wind had begun t-^ blow fiercely. Already the waves were 
 tossing high. The sun hrd set and a dark night was coming on. 
 But, spite of all this, the wicked captain in his mad pride and 
 ignorance was setting more sail, although already the fhip 
 was driving furiously through the water. Benadam was afraid. 
 He felt that he had been a coward to listen to Deror, that he 
 was guilty of the death of Hosah as well as the captain whom 
 he had placed over the faithful pilot. He ventured to say 
 a word or two to the man he had so foolishly honoured 
 about the risk of piling on fresh canvass, but Deror turned 
 upon him so savagely that all his cowardice came back again 
 and he only said " Well, do as you like." Then he went back 
 to his cabin and lay upon his couch, full of sad and gloomy 
 thoughts. 
 
 Benadam could not rest. He was thrown from his couch 
 by the violence of the waves, and with difficulty found some- 
 thing by which he might hold, as the ship rose and fell or 
 swayed from side to side in the surging waters. He could 
 hear the timbers creaking with the strain of the vessel's 
 motion, and the shriek of the wind through the shrouds, and 
 the ripping of the sails, and the washing of the seas that 
 
Tilt: ISLAyi) KLWGDOM. 257 
 
 swept the decks. One by one he heard the despairing cries 
 of the sailors who were carried away by the boarding waves 
 and engulfed in the terrible billows of the sea. Still, in spite 
 of all his fears and the terrors of the moment, he had hopes 
 of reaching port and of gaining great stores of merchandise. 
 In the brief lulls in the storm Ueror's voice fell upon his ear, 
 now loud and imperious and madly defiant as if he were the 
 ruler of the winds and waves, and then changing to a foolish 
 chuckle or an idiotic laugh. But these lulls lasted only for 
 a moment and in a short time ceased altogether. The storm 
 increased, the waters poured into the cabin and drove Ben- 
 adam on hands and knees to the deck. What a wild scene, 
 what a picture of desolation met his eyes ! Not a sailor 
 was visible ; only the captain at the helm, and he a raving 
 madman. As he hung by the after mast Benadam saw the 
 moon arise among clouds, and by its dim light beheld, 
 straight in the vessel's course, a great black rock that dashed 
 the waves into high fountains of foam and spray. He stag- 
 gered back to the helm and tried to drag Deror away, but 
 his fingers were benumbed with cold and fear. The mad 
 captain struck his master to the deck, and in another minute 
 there was a crash as if the heavens were falling or the earth 
 had rent asunder. The vessel was broken into a thousand 
 fragments, the rich stores of merchandize scattered on a 
 hundred waves, the wicked Deror engulfed in his frantic 
 pride, and Benadam cast a waif upon the tempestuous sea. 
 
 How he lived through that dreadful night he could never 
 tell. No human being came to his help, no fragment of the 
 wreck supported his fainting form, yet some unseen arm, 
 able to go down into the great sea depths and strong enough 
 to battle with the waves and billows that swept over him, 
 upheld the ruined merchant. When he came to himself it 
 
258 77/ A" ISLAM) KINdhOM. 
 
 was broad day-]ight, and he lay all helpless on a gently 
 sloj)ing beach of sand whose margin was washed by a softly 
 rippling tide. Raising his head to look abroad, Benadam saw- 
 that he was on an island protected all around by coral reefs 
 which broke the violence of the sea, and that the island was 
 large and green and beautiful ; and as he looked towards its 
 centre where towers and pinnacles showed that there must 
 be a town, he saw, between it and the point where he was 
 lying, a long procession moving. As it came nearer he could 
 distinguish horsemen and chariots and a great company of 
 people on foot, clad in holiday raiment. He could hear the 
 music to the sound of which they were marching, and the 
 shouts of the people who cried " Long live the king !" Then 
 Henadam wondered why they were coming his way, and what 
 business the king could have at this point of sandy beach 
 where there was neither building nor sliip nor harbour. They 
 were almost upon him now, and great was his shame as he 
 looked at himself and thought of the contrast between his rags 
 and helplessness and the pomp and state of the great proces- 
 sion. He tried to stagger to his feet as he could not hide 
 himself, to pray the king to do him no harm, but between his 
 fright and his weariness he fainted and fell insensible to the 
 ground. 
 
 While he was unconscious some richly dressed officers 
 came to Benadam, raised him gently from the sand, and laid 
 him on a couch they had brought with them. They took off 
 his tattered clothes, washed away the sand and sea-weed from 
 his face and body, and dressed him in a purple robe of soft 
 and costly fabric dyed widi the famous Tyrian dye. They 
 poured wine into h's lips and, when he opened his eyes 
 refreshed by it as if by a pleasant sleep, they set a crown of 
 pure gold upon his head and bowed the knee before him, 
 
THK ISLAND KINO DOM. 259 
 
 while all the people shouted " Long live the king !" The ship- 
 wrecked merchant felt as if he were dreaming a very happy 
 dream, but he knew that what he saw was real, so he ventured 
 to ask one of the noblemen. "Tell me, sir, where is the king, 
 that I may let him know who I am and how I came here !" 
 The nobleman answered respectfully " V'ou, my lord, are the 
 king and wc know no other ; we have been waiting for you 
 many days." " I am no king," replied Benadam ; " I am a 
 poor shipwrecked merchant who has lost all he had by his 
 own folly and wickedness." But the noblemen again bent the 
 knee, and the musicians began to play and the royal banners 
 to wave high in the air, while the people shouted louder than 
 ever " Long live the king, long live our new-found king!" 
 'J'hen they led him to the royal chariot, soft with luxurious 
 cushions and dazzling with ornaments of gold and pearls, 
 where the two chief oflicers of state sat beside him, Other 
 chariots followed. The horsemen and musicians went on 
 before, and behind came the joyful [)eopiO waving palm 
 branches as they went, and ever proclaiming him their new- 
 found king. 
 
 Soon the procession reached the city and was met by more 
 people and officers of stale, all eager to greet the king. 
 Bcnadam was brought to the royal palace and lodged 
 there in true royal fashion. I'A'erything he desired was 
 set before him, and treasures of every description ])Oured 
 into his palace gates. The peoj)le toiled cheerfully at their 
 daily tasks, cultivating the cornfields and vineyards, gathering 
 in the uncultivated places the myrrh and balsam andfrankin- 
 cen.se that flows like sap out of the fragrant trees and shrubs 
 or forms like gum upon their surface, and trading to distant 
 lands for vessels of silver and gold and brass, of glass and 
 porcelain, for ivory and rhinoceros' horns, and all kinds of 
 
TIIH ISI.ANH KINdhOM. 
 
 woolen and cotton rloths, rloaks and tunics, shawls and sashes^ 
 dyed with brilliant colours and broidcrcd with gold. And aU 
 this they did < heerfiilly and even joyfully, because it was for 
 the sake of the kin/.-;. Jienadam soon become accustomed 
 to this new life. Though at first it seemed strange to him, 
 the newness wore away, and he began to think that the peo- 
 ple (lid no more than their duty in lavishing so much affec- 
 tion and loyalty upon him. Many happy weeks passed by 
 and even months without any interruption to his pleasure. 
 The fields were always dean and well kept, the barns and 
 storehouses full ; ships came often into port laden with rich 
 cargoes ; the officers obeyed the king's slightest winh ; wealth 
 and beauty wore all round about him. He forgot that he had 
 once been a servant himself and that he had marvellously 
 esca|)ed a terrible death. He only thought of the moment so 
 full of iiappiness, and believed that his joys would last for 
 ever. 
 
 One day there was a great commotion in the city. A 
 man had been seized by the king's guard, a strange man, 
 trying to force his way into the royal i)alace. They brought 
 him before the king to see what he would do with the 
 intruder. As he was being brought in, the wise counsellors 
 of J>eiiadam besought him to banish the stranger from his 
 dominions ; " for," said they, " he is a dangerous-looking 
 man and is here for no good i)urpose." 'I he prisoner stood 
 before the king, who started on his throne at the sight of 
 him. " is it you Deror?" he cried ; "I thought you had 
 gone down into the lowest depths of the sea. Why did you 
 not stay there ?" Deror laughed gently, for it was he, and 
 answered " 'l"he sea has cast me up, King lienadam, to be 
 useful to you. Am 1 not your own old servant, though I 
 have made mistakes in the ptvst? Trust me yet again and I 
 
TlUi ISLAND KINaiKfM. 26 1 
 
 will serve you faithfully." The old couiisellfH?^ whispered in 
 the ear of the king, " 'I'riist him not. He ruined you before, 
 and wiil surely ruin you again." lint I.enadam thought he 
 was secure and that, (!ven if he wished, Deror could dc him 
 no harm ; so he said, " f/et him live and remain on the 
 island. He is a useful and a i)old man, and I will .sec him 
 so rarely that his boldness will bring me no danger." The 
 officers thought otherwise, and would fain have killed or 
 banished the captain, but feared th;it in doing so they would 
 grieve the king whom they loved. Thus Deror took u|> his 
 abode near the royal pala( e. 
 
 It was true, as Henadam h;id ])roniised, that he did not 
 see iJeror often, but whenever they met a great change took 
 place in the king. Whatever Denr may have put into the 
 monarch's head, it made him dissatisfied and petulant and 
 even angry. The most watchful care, the most constant 
 attention and readiness to sup|)Iy all his wants, the richest 
 gifts and most j)erfe( t obedii;nce only irritated the king 
 whom everybody sought to serve. .Sometimes by Dcror's 
 advice he would lay great burdens uj>on the people and so 
 aggravate them by his forgetfulness ^)i their devotion that 
 there was danger of a rebellion in the city. A rebellion there 
 would certainly have been had not Deror's idle and wicked 
 career been cut short. It happened in this way. Deror 
 had, in his visits at Court, narrowly observed all the chief 
 ofiicers of Henadam's household and their attendants, and 
 there was one person, an attendant and trusted servant of 
 the first officer of the state, whom he had watched and taken 
 every opportunity to meet. He had evidently found out 
 something about this attendant, for whenever he saw him a 
 scowl would come upon his bold handsome face. One day 
 at last they met alone in front of the |)alace gates where the 
 
262 THE ISLAND KINGDOM. 
 
 king could see them. At once he saw Deror spring like a 
 wild beast upon the quiet man to whom he had hitherto 
 paid little attention. He called his guard, and himself ran. 
 hastily to the spot. The guards separated the two strug- 
 gling men, but not before the marks of Deror's fingers were 
 deep in his opponent's throat, and Deror's right leg was 
 broken by the guard who fell upon and overpowered him. 
 Benadam went up to the half strangled man with whom 
 Deror had been fighting. His turban had fallen off in the 
 fray and his cloak been torn from his shoulders. Benadam 
 looked him in the face and lo, it was Hosah the helmsman, 
 whom Deror had thus tried a second time to kill. He soon 
 old his r.tory, how he had reached the island before Ben- 
 odam and had taken up his abode with those who first 
 greeted the new found king and placed the crown upon his 
 brow. Then Benadam, king though he was, tenderly 
 embraced his old friend who had never done him aught but 
 good, and ordered Deror to be put to death. 
 
 Meanwhile the wicked captain was suffering great pain 
 from his broken leg. He raved like a madman and fought 
 with those who tried to bind him. At last he found that he 
 was helpless and became quiet as a little child. The guards 
 led him into the king's presence to hear the sentence of 
 death from his own lips. When the king saw his sad and 
 helpless state and the tears that fell from his eyes, and when 
 he heard his prayers for mercy and promises of good con- 
 duct, he was moved and wished that he had spared him. 
 He was ^ J therefore when Hosah knelt before him, joined 
 his prayers to those of his old enemy and vouched for 
 Deror's good conduct in the future. *' He shall live," said 
 Benadam, "on one condition, and that is that henceforth he 
 shall be Hosah's servant and do nothing without his per- 
 
THE ISLAND KING DOM. 263 
 
 mission." The wounded captain gladly promised, and Hosah 
 took him to his home, where he bound up the broken leg 
 and laid his former foe upon his own couch. Thus peace 
 came again to the island. The king was joyous and 
 thankful and kind, the nobles rejoiced, and the people 
 went about their labours with glad cheerfulness. In a short 
 time Deror came out from his sick room leaning on Hosah's 
 arm or driven about in the king's chariot, and when he was 
 quite restored and only limped a little, he and Hosah went 
 about the king's business with the roya^ officers, wisely or- 
 dering and helping in all that was to be done. 
 
 Four months had passed away on the island when Ben- 
 adam, journeying through his kingdom, stood upon a moun- 
 tain top and looked out upon the sea. All around he saw 
 nothing but sea and sky, save in one point of the horizon, 
 and there he thought he could discern a black spot where 
 the heavens and the waters met. Hosah was with him, and, 
 seeing his master look in that direction, he also looked 
 steadily towards the same point. Being a pilot he was ac- 
 customed to sight far off objects with his keen glance. He 
 saw that it was land and told the king so. "I must find 
 out something about it," said Benadam, "as soon as we 
 return to the palace." All the way home he thought of this 
 distant land and wondered what coast it was. On his 
 return he called his chief officers to him and inquired 
 about this far off country. As soon as he spoke of 
 it the officers began to sigh, and some of them to weep, while 
 they answered : " Far be it from the king ever to set foot in 
 that land." But one of the old counsellors, who had met him 
 when he arrived on the island at the gate of the city, said : 
 " My lord the king must know the history of this land in 
 which he is, and of that which he has seen." Then Benadam 
 
264 THE fSLAXn KfNOnOM. 
 
 sat down and told the counsellor to say on. " This island, 
 my lord," replied the old man, "is inhabited by spirits in 
 bodily form who prayed once to the great God of Heaven to 
 give them a son of man to rule over them. God answered 
 their prayer and sent them such a son of man every year to 
 be their king. At the beginning of the year one suHi is cast 
 up upon the shore, naked and helpless as you were, and him 
 we take to be our sovereign. We clothe him with royal robes, 
 lodge him in a palace, nourish him with the good of the land, 
 and serve him with all our strength and substance. But when 
 the year is ended he must leave all these delights. We carry 
 him down to the harbour, strip off his royal robes and put 
 him into a bare and empty ship, which carries him over the 
 sea at which you have just been looking. The ship lands 
 him quickly upon the bleak spot you saw, which is a desolate 
 island, without building or tree or shrub, without well of water 
 or human being or living thing. There he wanders until he 
 perishes and his bones lie bleaching on the sand. Naked and 
 helpless you have come to us, and thus naked and helpless 
 you must return." 
 
 When Benadam heard the old counsellor speak these 
 words, his joy turned to bitterness. He smote upon his 
 breast and said, " O wretched man that I am ! In a few 
 short months another will come after me and enjoy all these 
 riches, and I, where shall I be ? Tell me, is there no escape ?" 
 Then the old man answered : " There is no escape. It is the 
 lot of all the sons of men who reign here. '1 he wise man said 
 " riches make themselves wings : they fly away as an eagle 
 towards heaven." But he has also said of the ant, that she 
 provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in 
 the harvest. Shall the ant be wiser than the king ? Shall not 
 he make provision for the future also? There are sh'ps 
 
rur-: rsnAND k/m/dom. 265 
 
 at the king's service, and we are all his subjects. Let him 
 employ them and us against the end of the year." These 
 sayings pleased Benadamas the former ones had grieved him. 
 He gathered his officers around the council ])oard and listened 
 to the advice of each. They all recommended the exploration 
 of the distant desert island, and that ships full of all kinds of 
 provisions, of seeds and trees, of domestic animals, of building 
 materials, and of skilful workmen should go there at once 
 and land their cargoes in a suitable place for a royal domain. 
 Hosah and Deror offered their services and volunteered to 
 stay upon the desolate island and prei)are everything for the 
 reception of the king. Benadam accepted their offer and that 
 of the old councillor's son who proposed to accompany them. 
 So that very day they began to load a large vessel, which so 
 far had been engaged in bringing articles of luxury for the 
 king's use, with seed of corn and grass, with growing vines and 
 flowering plant? and trees for fruit and shade, with imple 
 ments of husbandry, and with a large number of horses and 
 cattle, and labourers to till the ground. In a week the vessel 
 was ready and, amid the united prayers of king and people, 
 set sail under Hosah's skilful pilotage for the silent land. 
 
 The king's officers found the island just what they had been 
 led to expect, a dreary waste of treeless and waterless hill 
 and dale. At once the labourers were set to work digging in 
 the soil at the head of many valleys, and soon every little 
 company of well-diggers cried joyfully, " Look out for the 
 stream !" For out of the earth, in all the-spots broken by their 
 spades, shot up great sj)rings of water which flov/cd down 
 the centre of the valleys towards the sea. At first they 
 spread over the land in a shallow muddy tide, but, when the 
 force of the stream at the centre had worn a channel for 
 itself, the overflowing waters subsided into it and, after a 
 
*66 TUE ISLAND KINGDOM. 
 
 little, every valley was adorned with a clear sparkling brook 
 or rivulet. Upon the lately flooded land the seed was sov.-n ; 
 by the brook sides fruit trees were planted ; and vines on the 
 hills. As the labourers ploughed and dug the soil, new springs 
 and wells appeared, and wherever they were found verdure 
 and beauty soon followed. Some distance from the sea-shore, 
 Hosah and his companions discovered in the heart of the 
 hills a great circular valley many miles in diameter. This 
 they cultivated with special care, leaving a wide space in the 
 centre for a city such as that from wliich they had come. 
 Gardens were laid out and stocked with the flowering plants 
 and shrubs they had brought with them. Shade trees of 
 rapid growth lined the newly laid out streets and filled the 
 parks, which soon began to be green inider the influence of 
 the flowing water courses. The fields of corn even showed 
 promise of a rich harvest when Hosah and Deror and the 
 councillor's son set sail again for the dominions of Benadam. 
 Six months of the year had passed when they returned. 
 The king received them joyfully on their landing and 
 showed them, piled high upon the piers and landings, all the 
 materials he had been busy gathering for the desert island. 
 There were bricks and hewn stones, timber and carved wood 
 for building, with all kinds of furniture and drapery and 
 metal work, with horses and chariots and great store of 
 provisions. Many vessels besides the one Hosah brought 
 back were lying in the harbour waiting to carry these things 
 over the sea, and a thousand workmen were ready to embark 
 for the land their labours were to beautify. Great was the 
 joy of the men who had been left to cultivate the land and 
 tend the newly planted trees and vines and flowers, when, 
 looking out fr m the hill tops, they espied a great fleet of 
 ships making its way towards the once desolate shore a few 
 
THE ISLAND KLSUDOM. 267 
 
 weeks later. Then, when the cargoes had been landed and 
 placed on carriages and waggons, the newly made road to 
 the site of the city in the central valley became a scene of 
 busy life, as day after day the treasures of tlie old island were 
 carried along it into the heart of the new. Next came the 
 sound of hammer and saw and chisel. The city's walls rose 
 rapidly with all their towers and gateways. The streets were 
 no longer mere lines of levelled earth and stone laid out 
 across tlie plain, but broad shady avenues between rows of 
 shops and houses, with gardens all around them. And in 
 the great parks the royal palaces, fairer in proportion and 
 adornment than those of Benadam's island kingdom, raised 
 their glowing pinnacles to the summer sky. When the eighth 
 month ended the city's gates were hung, amid great rejoicing, 
 to the sound of trumpets from the walls and the ringing of 
 joy bells from the towers. Then Hosali and his companions 
 returned with their empty ships to the dominion of the king. 
 They told the story of the once desolate island to Benadam 
 and his people. The king was glad and the people were eager 
 to go to the new land. So a proclamation was made that all 
 who loved the king and wished to become inhabitants of the 
 country to which he must go might sail thither with all their 
 goods. All Benadam's wise counsellors, his best soldiers, his 
 trusted attendants and faithful servants volunteered to go.. 
 The principal merchants and skilful workmen, the experienced 
 husbandmen, and even the sailors came to the harbour beg- 
 ging for a passage. There was hardly room for them all and 
 the property they brought with them in the fleet, although 
 many ships had been added to it which used to trade only for 
 the king's pleasure. As Benadam stood upon the shore 
 watching the great fleet sail away he felt that all he loved best 
 had gone, and that he hardly cared to stay behind. Back to 
 
268 TltK ISLAND Kl Nil DOM. 
 
 the |)alace he went with a few attendants, thinking of the time 
 when he should be compelled to leave his once happy home 
 and kingdom, no longer with fear but with joyful hopa. In 
 the meantime Hosah led the ships to the new island. When 
 th<!y arrived, the 'ouncillors and sailors, the friends and 
 merchants and servants and husbandmen gave a joyful shout 
 and could hardly believe their eyes at the wonders they saw. 
 The labourers and workmen who came to meet them told 
 them of new treasures they had discovered in the once barren 
 waste — of gold and silver and mines of gems and ([uarriesof 
 marble that had been laid bare by the running water or by 
 tl# winds that blew away the surface sands. They showed 
 them new Howers and grasses, seedling vines and trees such 
 as the old kingdom had never known, which had sprung out 
 of the earth where their seeds had long been hidden waiting 
 for the care of man. Then all went to work. To the husband- 
 men the lands were distributed ; the merchants took up their 
 abode in the shops and bazaars ; the sailors and shipwrights 
 dwelt by the sea and built new vessels against the king's 
 arrival : the councillors occupied the palaces of justice and 
 brought the people into order and happy ways of living ; the 
 servants pre])ared the royal palaces ; and the soldiers mounted 
 guard at the gates ; while the king's near friends built their 
 watch towers on the hills overlooking the sea and waited the 
 arrival of him whom they loved. Ten months had passed 
 when Hosah and Deror and the chief councillor's son 
 departed to tell Benadam that all was ready. 
 
 The king met them when they landed. He looked pale and 
 tired. He did not grumble at all : indeed he was kinder and 
 more grateful than ever, but it was easy to see that things 
 did not satisfy him as once they did. He delighted now in 
 hearing about the new home and all the prosperity and hap- 
 
piness there. Day after day when his public duties were 
 over he would sit with his three friends and talk of what 
 they had seen and done, and of the many friends who were 
 there waiting for him. Sometimes he would be carried to a 
 mountain top and look fixedly for hours over the sea to 
 the little spot on the hori/on which was soon to be his king- 
 dom. He did not grieve now that another would soon take 
 his place, but rather tried to make preparations for the com- 
 ing of the next son of man, and gave costly gifts to those 
 whose duty it was to meet him. As he knew that he could 
 carry nothing away with him, he made his people happy by 
 bestowing his wealth upon them. Thus he waited for the 
 fatal day. It came at last, the last day of the twelfth month. 
 The officers of state and all the people, dressed in their 
 soberest and moHt gloomy attire, led him down to the har- 
 bour, clad in his royal robes. They bowed the knee before 
 him for the last time, and then one officer took the crown 
 from off his huad, another stripped the royal robes from his 
 shoulders, and a third put upon him the rags in which he had 
 landed on the island a year before. Then they led him to a 
 ship, low and narrow and black with sloping masts and 
 many sails, and laid him iri its bare unfurnished hold. Ben- 
 adam shut his eyes. He did not see the ship, nor Hosah 
 and Deror and the councillor's son who were with him 
 though he did not know it, but he saw a great hand in which 
 the very sea itself appeared to lie and he knew it for the 
 hand that had saved him when shipwrecked on the Red Sea. 
 No ship ever passed through the waters like that ship. 
 No sooner was Benadam, the naked and helpless and poor, 
 safely on board, than the many sails filled till the masts bent, 
 and away, like a lightning flash over the great upholding 
 hand, the vessel sped and touched the far distant shore. 
 
270 THE ISr.ANn KINGDOM. 
 
 " Awake, awake, Benadam," cried Hosah and Deror and the 
 councillor's son. The trumpets on shore and the joyous 
 bells seemed to repeat the cry, " Awake." Down from the 
 dark vessel came the poor man and saw it sink behind him. 
 In a moment his rags were thrown off, and gorgeous raiment 
 fit for the proudest emperor took their place ; sandals were 
 on his feet, and a crown of blazing jewels decked his brow. 
 With his companions he entered a chariot of costly work- 
 manship ; and along the level highway, past green meadows 
 and vineyards, orchards and gardens and fields of yellow 
 corn, he sped towards the city. Half way his friends, 
 who had come down from their watchtowers upon the hills, 
 met him and fell upon his neck with such joy for him and 
 them as he had never dreamt the heart of man could bear. 
 There was room for them all in the chariot which was driven 
 rapidly to the city's gates. What a welcome was there; such 
 music, such glad faces, such shouts of " Long live the king !" 
 Amid the blessings of many thousands Benadam passed 
 through the shady avenues to the royal palace, and there 
 began a new reign which has not ended yet and never will. 
 
 God, the great Father, has numberless servants in many 
 parts of his wide dominions. Among them He chose one, 
 the son of man, to be the object of his love. To him He 
 gave no ship, treasure laden, but a priceless human soul and 
 a world of beauty to rule over and enjoy. For t'.ie captain 
 or chief director of the soul He appointed Fr'^f dom, and, 
 for its guide. He gave him Trust. Trust would have the 
 son of man to lean on God, but Freedom would have him 
 confide in himself. I'here was a battle between the two in 
 which Trust was beaten and left for dead. Then Freedom 
 

 k 
 
 ■ m. 
 
 
 
 -^#|» 
 
 
 -Tnk tutA/m Ktxiinoit. 
 
 ^if^ii 
 
 
 " '.• '' '■ i' '■'■•• 
 
 * tarried the sou! upon the rocks of disobedience to God, atta>^*^i' 
 
 man's life was wrecked. Still God did not leave man. Hij^i *: 
 
 Almighty hand held him iip, and brought him, generation after 
 
 generation, inttf a world full of beauty and riches and haj[)|)i*fj>^ 
 
 ness. As a little child, all helpless, he comes into the World^i 
 
 a king tenderly cared for and waited upon by mother Attd 
 
 father and friends, and all his life long he retains some real ; ji.^ 
 
 dominion over the creation of God. Again he is in dangfe/|i 
 
 Of being led away by Freedom to care only for himself ahd 
 
 for the present mo^jent. Thon Trust conges again before 
 
 him, and the wise counsels of God's word and of His voice 
 
 )v in theTieart tell him what tb trust. So if he refuses to listen 
 
 ^$ to selfish will and submits his Freedom to Gdd's Truth, h^y/i; 
 
 learns of the short life here and the endless life beyond the 
 
 :,« grave. Then, if he continues wise, tie prepares for the future/ -s 
 
 v' All thftt he thinks and does is for the world that is in visibte. .]■:,• 
 
 :: ttis heart is there, and his treasure is where his heart is. Th^ri't' 
 
 f. love of God the Father makes the world beyond the grave i^' V 
 
 .' seebnd Garden of Edert instead of a dreary deadly waste. 
 
 I^^^e love of God the Son builds it uj) with many indhsiorls'r 
 
 ^; iend shows hini his own house hot made with Hands, ete^ftl|;^ 
 
 - r in the heavens. And the love of God the tloly' felic^tj^eOpfeS 
 
 ft ^th those fiearesi his heart, With Wfcibrti he islo enjejiy itlltl3^ 
 
 it^ fullness the communion of tlie saints.; Ttie love whicil|J 
 
 i:. '.he gives, because he learris of the love of bdd whb ^6 Idveff"! i 
 
 fkthe world, and the grace of the Ldrd JeSUS Christ who died" 
 
 ■ ' tor sinners, and enjoys the fellowship of the ttoly Ghost whd.^ 
 
 f,; tears with and speaks to the souls of un#orthy mert, skfeWfifjf^ 
 
 ^j?; Itself in good deeds, every one of which i* ft Ship ibf tfeasiif^l^^ 
 
 ;; isent over the sea of time to the life beyond. Soon dome^ the 
 
 day of death, a ddy of joy and not of ^eK Wealth dhd^ 
 
 Cv friehds, fame and pleasure, everything that belongs td tht'«^ 
 
 ■^^V 
 
 
_'■;}:' ■:ii:':tV-V.'':-l:), 
 
 J •*■ ■ -1 
 
 273 
 
 THF! ISLAND KINGDOM. 
 
 
 
 earth is then put away, and alone, naked as he came into the 
 world, he goes out of it. In a moment he is with his treasures ; 
 
 ^ and in the heavenly home, whither he is borne by the almighty 
 -' hand which upholds the universe, he reigns a better and an 
 
 ,. eternal reign as a king and r. priest to God. _ .^ t,_,i_ ~, 
 
 •li ■> , ; ...■ . ,■■ . ■ • ■. ' ', 
 
 -■- ,* ,•■ . '-1- t ■ ■' ■»'* il^i*^-; ^ ^ ■'■'•'■ , 
 
 .;. ". ■ . -*.■ ' ■ . . .' -; >.■ ^ ' ■. ,'■ ■ ■ ■ ■. . 
 
 
 . '. ■■ A''' .• 
 
 .i'. 'y. 
 
 '^:) 
 
 ?.^''f,:^;^.^,;^::4-.. 
 
 
 
 ■^^^'^y^'^.^'i:^-^^: 
 
 T.-UJ-J! V-'lvvA^;). V--jV'''''.'?'?''-^*^' 
 
 THE 
 
 
 ';^-}i:^r.v' 
 
 
 
 t. f -■ 
 
 
 
 ■ ^ .S.'S3-- 
 
 . " •;■": .>^^;A ■'?)•• :^} j*^: ■ V-V;^;*!^ 
 
 
 
 ':M 
 
 
 f^-f "^.-^y?'^ Tfr'