Stories of the Saints by Candle-Light Part 4

"Calm thyself, cease talking, and come; for with me in this boat thou shalt cross the river."

So the beggar stayed with them three days, and Victorius was allowed to look after him, and, as the old book says, "eagerly brought him everything to eat that he liked best."

Victorius stayed always with St. Martin, and went about everywhere with him, scarcely ever leaving his side. Even to the church he would go with him for the night offices; or on his tours visiting the churches or preaching to the heathen. St. Martin taught Victorius, and in return the boy waited on him; also, I think, he must have cheered up the old Bishop, and often made him feel a boy again. But don't you think Victorius was a very lucky boy? He saw a great many wonderful miracles of the Saint, and was even allowed to have a hand in the doing of some of them, as in the case of the blind beggar. When Victorius was old enough, St. Martin made him a priest, and _himself_ cut off the young man's hair in the way priests used to have it cut.

There are a great many more wonderful stories about St. Martin which I haven't time to tell you now; but gradually, gradually he was establis.h.i.+ng the Christian Faith very firmly in France. G.o.d's great plan was being fully worked out, for, you see, St. Martin had never resisted G.o.d's will in any point; always he had done just what he felt G.o.d was gently leading him to do, never mind what it cost him at the time. And so he took each step that G.o.d arranged for him, and each one led on to the next, and all led on to the wonderful life of building up the Church of Christ, and making it bigger, stronger, purer, more healthy; and the great work, too, of turning a heathen land into a powerful Christian country.

At last came the day when the tired old Bishop felt, with unspeakable joy, that he was to go and receive his reward at the hands of Christ, Whom he had loved so faithfully and so long, and was to enter into his rest.

One day, after a long journey, St. Martin was thinking of returning to his beloved Marmontier, when a great weakness came over him.

"The moment of my deliverance is at hand," he said.

His monks and other faithful companions were nearly broken-hearted.

"Oh, Father, will you then leave us?" they cried. "Ravening wolves will fall on your flock, and who will protect it when the shepherd is struck?

We know your longing to depart and to be with Christ, but your reward is a.s.sured and will be greater by delay. Have pity on us who must remain."

So St. Martin prayed a beautiful prayer, because he loved his children more than himself, and he was even willing to put off his reward and his longed-for rest for love of them.

"Lord," he said, "if indeed I still be necessary to Thy people, I refuse not the labour. Let only Thy will be done."

[Ill.u.s.tration: S. MARTIN, VICTORIUS AND THE BLIND BEGGAR.

_See page 39._ ]

But it was not Our Lord's will that His faithful soldier should fight any longer. Christ was waiting for him, all ready to say, "Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."

And so, lying humbly upon a bed of sackcloth, St. Martin, Apostle of France, finished the work that G.o.d had given him to do, and pa.s.sed into the glory and eternal rest of the Blessed.

THE FOURTH DAY

A gorgeous day of steady, hot sun that made the sea sparkle like a million diamonds scattered on a great stretch of blue, blue satin. The tide was very far out, leaving a golden stretch of sand that simply asked to be tunnelled into and dug into holes and trenches and castles.

The Cubs all got into their bathing-costumes (the Cubs' "costumes" were _mostly_ bare Cub!), and spent the whole morning burrowing like moles into the sand, and getting cool in the sea when they felt like it. Akela tried to write something "very important," but the Cubs didn't seem to think it nearly as important as Akela did, and not much writing got done.

After dinner and rest, when the tide had come up, like a great green monster swallowing up the sh.o.r.e, and clutching with foamy fingers at the rocks, Akela hired a boat and took half the Cubs at a time for a row, while the other half ran along the sh.o.r.e ready to scramble in, when their turn came.

The wind had got up, and out to sea there were no end of "white horses"

shaking their manes and galloping after each other. Do you know what "white horses" are? They are the white crests of the waves that break out all over the sea on windy days. Some of the "white horses" came galloping close in to sh.o.r.e, and the Cubs had a very exciting time landing to give the others a turn. This is how they did it. One large Cub rolled up his shorts as far as they would go, and stood ready in the bow. Akela then turned the boat sh.o.r.ewards suddenly, and pulled at the oars for dear life, and all the Cubs helped by cheering.

"Crash--scrunch," the boat went ash.o.r.e; the Cub in the bow leapt out, and held her nose steady while everyone else scrambled out. A few "white horses" jumped over the stern and made things a bit wet, but n.o.body minded. In scrambled the next boatful of Cubs, and, with a good shove, the boat was out again.

A very little make-believe and you were lifeboat-men landing survivors from a wreck.

There was to be a long and _very exciting_ story to-night, so the Cubs bustled down to the Stable extra early, and were undressed before you could say "Jack Robinson." In fact, Terry began to undress in the street, and was out in the Stable-yard in his night-s.h.i.+rt before Akela and the last Cub had got through the gate.

"Tell us a long, long, long one," begged the Cubs; "we aren't a bit sleepy. Let it last till midnight."

"I'll tell as long as the candle lasts," said Akela, sticking a stump of candle on the ledge.

The Cubs curled up, and the candle-light fell in a golden flicker on their ruddy, sunburnt faces. Fifteen pairs of eyes were fixed on Akela. You couldn't hear a straw rustle. Only the faint "Swish-sh-sh--_Sha-a-a-ah_"

of the "white horses" breaking on the sh.o.r.e broke the stillness.

"Now we are going back, back, back into a thousand years ago," began Akela, and the Cubs gave a wriggle of satisfaction, and prepared to take that mighty journey with the greatest ease.

THE STORY OF ST. EDMUND, KING AND MARTYR.

Now we are going back, back, back into a thousand years ago, and more.

We shall stay in England, but it is a strange, wild England, covered with deep, mysterious green forests, where speckled deer roam about, and on moonlight nights you can hear the wolves howling. The Englishmen of these days are nearly as fierce as the wolves. If you met one coming down a forest path I believe you'd be a bit afraid of him, with his fierce eyes and s.h.a.ggy head of hair, his round s.h.i.+eld and sharp spear. A good many of these Englishmen are still heathens. But St. Benedict's monks have been hard at work for the last few hundred years turning the wild country into the beautiful England we know, and the fierce, cruel Saxons into brave Christian knights, with kindly, n.o.ble hearts as well as fearless spirits.

Well, in a part of the country called East Anglia there lived an old King called Offa. He was a Christian, and descended from a line of brave and n.o.ble Kings called the Uffings. Poor old Offa was very sad, because he felt he was getting old, and he thought that when he died the royal line of Uffings would end, for he had no son to succeed him.

As a matter of fact he _had_ got a son, but many years before G.o.d had called this boy to give up all thoughts of worldly glory and become a holy hermit, giving up his life to prayer. When G.o.d calls a man to serve Him and Him alone, He does not let the world suffer by his loss. G.o.d had a plan of His own for replacing Offa's hermit son by one of the most glorious Kings that ever reigned in England, and it is the wonderful story of how he was found, and of his thrilling adventures as the young King of East Anglia, that I'm going to tell you to-night.

Well, something--perhaps it was a whisper from the Holy Spirit--made old King Offa feel that if he prayed very hard he might in some wonderful way obtain an heir to his throne.

In those days, when people wanted to pray very hard and show G.o.d they _really_ wanted a thing, and really believed He would give it them, they used to do what was called "going on a pilgrimage." It was like _doing_ instead of only _saying_ a great prayer, for the whole, long, dangerous journey was one act of faith and devotion or of thanksgiving.

So old Offa set out on a pilgrimage to the very best place you could pilgrimage to--the land where Our Blessed Lord lived and died, where there are still the very same rocky paths His Blessed Feet touched, the same mountains and lakes His Eyes rested on, the very hill where His Precious Blood poured down from the Cross, dyeing the gra.s.s and the little white daisies red. Somehow the King felt that if he could go and pray where Our Lord had prayed he would get some wonderful answer. So he started off, crossed the blue sea and landed on the opposite coast. Now, G.o.d is so ready to grant the prayers of people who have so much love and faith that He sometimes answers almost before they have asked. That's what happened with the old King. His way lay through Saxony, the kingdom of his cousin Acmund. One day he rode up with his men-at-arms to the Court, and decided to spend a few days there. Acmund, of course, welcomed his cousin, and received him joyfully to the palace.

Well, as King Offa sat resting on one of the low couches covered with the skins of wild beasts that Acmund had killed in the chase, there was a light footfall outside the chamber, the heavy curtain was drawn back from the doorway, and there stood before him a tall, slim boy of thirteen, with fair hair, truthful blue eyes, and a face tanned with the sun and wind of his open-air life. Something seemed to jump up in the old King's sad heart. Oh, if only that n.o.ble boy were his son, his heir!

He was a true Uffing. What a King he would make for East Anglia!

In the next few days Offa and the King's son, Edmund, became great friends. Edmund took upon himself the job of looking after his old cousin, and seeing that he had all he needed and enjoyed his visit at the Court. And Offa watched Edmund with a feeling of love and interest such as he would have had for his own son. He saw that the boy was brave and clever, a good shot with his bow, able to throw a spear straight and ride a horse. He saw that he was loved by all, and always ready to do good turns and put the wishes of others before his own. But he saw something that pleased him more--that Edmund was a true, loyal Christian. In all the excitement of the chase and the gaiety of the Court, his first thought was of G.o.d--to serve Him and please Him, to keep from all sin for His sake.

The more Offa saw of Edmund, the more sure he felt that G.o.d had led him to this Court that he might find his heir. Still, though it seemed as if his request was already granted, he did not give up his pilgrimage, but decided to press on, if only as an act of thanksgiving to G.o.d.

Before starting once more on his way, the King called Edmund aside.

Taking a gold ring from his finger, he put it on Edmund's hand, and told him that if it were G.o.d's will this might some day mean great things for him. Then he said good-bye, and rode away towards the East.

Young Edmund must often have wondered what it was that G.o.d held in store for him, and as he looked at the gold ring on his finger I feel sure he used to promise G.o.d that whatever it was he would _do his best_ to fulfil His Holy Will.

Well, old Offa reached Palestine all right. His heart thrilled with joy and love as he saw the very village where Jesus was born, and where the shepherds came that early Christmas morning to adore the little new-born King. He remembered the three Kings of the East, who came plodding along on their camels, bearing gifts for Mary's little Son.

Then he went on to Mount Calvary, and the tears ran down his old face as he saw the hill where Our Blessed Lord suffered such agony, with such glorious courage, for our sakes. He prayed and gave thanks, and then, with a confident heart, left all the future in G.o.d's Hands and started homewards.

But he had not got very far before he fell ill, and soon his men saw that he was dying. Calling them about him, he told them that it was G.o.d's will that young Edmund, Acmund's son, should be their King. Taking from his finger the signet-ring that had been placed upon it by the Bishop at his coronation, he commanded that when he was dead it should be carried as quickly as possible to the boy. Then, heaving a last sigh of peace and grat.i.tude, he closed his eyes on the world, and his faithful soul went to G.o.d.

_The Coming of St. Edmund._

Now we will go back to England. The people have heard of the death of their King, and they are not at all sure that they want a strange young Prince from Saxony to come and rule over them. They have collected in a great crowd on the sh.o.r.e, for the galleys from across the sea have come in sight, bearing down before the wind.

The s.h.i.+ps draw every moment nearer, and the people wait. As long as most of them can remember they have been ruled over by King Offa; and for many generations their Kings have been Uffings--tall, fair, blue-eyed men, with n.o.ble, fearless hearts. What will this strange boy be like?