WHEREVER Gerasimus went the lion went also. Best of all, Leo enjoyed
their daily duty of drawing water from the river. For that meant a long
walk in the open air, and a frolic on the bank of the Jordan. One day
they had gone as usual, Gerasimus, the lion, and the stupid donkey who
was carrying the filled jar on his back. They were jogging comfortably
home, when a poor man came running out of a tiny hut near the river, who
begged Gerasimus to come with him and try to cure his sick baby. Of
course the good man willingly agreed; this was one of the errands which
he loved best to do.
"Stay, brother," he commanded Leo, who wanted to go with him, "stay and
watch the foolish donkey." And he went with the man, feeling sure that
the lion would be faithful. Now Leo meant to do his duty, but it was a
hot and sleepy day, and he was very tired. He lay down beside the donkey
and kept one eye upon him, closing the other one just for a minute. But
this is a dangerous thing to do. Before he knew it, the other eye began
to wink; and the next moment Leo was sound asleep, snoring with his head
on his paws. Then it was that the silly donkey began to grow restless.
He saw a patch of grass just beyond that looked tempting, and he moved
over to it. Then he saw a greener spot beyond that, and then another
still farther beyond that, till he had taken his silly self a long way
off. And just then there came along on his way from Dan to Beersheba, a
thief of a Camel Driver, with a band of horses and asses. He saw the
donkey grazing there with no one near, and he said to himself,--
"Aha! A fine little donkey. I will add him to my caravan and no one will
be the wiser." And seizing Silly by the halter, he first cut away the
water-jar, and then rode off with him as fast as he could gallop.
Now the sound of pattering feet wakened Leo. He jumped up with a roar
just in time to see the Camel Driver's face as he glanced back from the
top of the next hill. Leo ran wildly about sniffing for the donkey; but
when he found that he had really disappeared, he knew the Camel Driver
must have stolen him. He was terribly angry. He stood by the water-jar
and roared and lashed his tail, gnashing his jaws as he remembered the
thief's wicked face.
Now in the midst of his rage out came Gerasimus. He found Leo roaring
and foaming at the mouth, his red-rimmed eyes looking very fierce. And
the donkey was gone--only the water-jar lay spilling on the ground. Then
Gerasimus made a great mistake. He thought that poor Leo had grown tired
of being a vegetarian, of living upon porridge and greens, and had tried
fresh donkey-meat for a change.
"Oh, you wicked lion!" he cried, "you have eaten poor Silly. What shall
I do to punish you?" Then Leo roared louder than ever with shame and
sorrow. But he could not speak to tell how it had happened. The Saint
was very sad. Tears stood in his kind eyes. "You will have to be donkey
now," he said; "you will have to do his part of the work since he is now
a part of you. Come, stand up and let me fasten the water-jar upon your
back." He spoke sternly and even switched Leo with his olive stick. Leo
had never been treated like this. He was the King of Beasts, and it was
shame for a King to do donkey's work. His eyes flashed, and he had half
a mind to refuse and to run away. Then he looked at the good man and
remembered how he had taken out that cruel thorn. So he hung his head
and stood still to be harnessed in the donkey's place.
Slowly and painfully Leo carried the water-jar up the hill. But worse
than all it was to feel that his dear master was angry with him.
Gerasimus told the story to the other monks, and they were even more
angry than he had been, for they did not love Leo so well. They all
agreed that Leo must be punished; so they treated him exactly as if he
were a mean, silly donkey. They gave him only oats and water to eat, and
made him do all Silly's work. They would no longer let him sleep outside
his master's door, but they tied him in a lonesome stall in the stable.
And now he could not go to walk with Gerasimus free and happy as the
King of Beasts should be. For he went only in harness, with never a kind
word from his master's lips.
It was a sad time for Leo. He was growing thinner and thinner. His mane
was rough and tangled because he had no heart to keep it smooth. And
there were several white hairs in his beautiful whiskers. He was fast
becoming melancholy; and the most pitiful beast in all the world is a
melancholy lion. He had been hoping that something would happen to show
that it was all a mistake; but it seemed as though the world was against
him, and truth was dead.
It was a sad time for Gerasimus, too; for he still loved Leo, though he
knew the lion must be punished for the dreadful deed which he was
believed to have done. One day he had to go some distance to a
neighboring town to buy provisions. As usual, he took Leo with him to
bring back the burden, but they did not speak all the way. Gerasimus had
done the errands which he had come to do, and was fastening the baskets
on each side of the lion's back. A group of children were standing
around watching the queer sight,--a lion burdened like a donkey! And
they laughed and pointed their fingers at him, making fun of poor Leo.
But suddenly the lion growled and began to lash his tail, quivering like
a cat ready to spring on a mouse. The children screamed and ran away,
thinking that he was angry with them for teasing him. But it was not
that. A train of camels was passing at the moment, and Leo had seen at
their head a mean, wicked face which he remembered. And as the last of
the caravan went by, Leo caught sight of Silly himself, the missing
donkey of the monastery. At the sound of Leo's growl, Silly pricked up
his ears and stood on his fore legs, which is not a graceful position
for a donkey. Then the Camel Driver came running up to see what was the
matter with his stolen donkey. But when he came face to face with Leo,
whose yellow eyes were glaring terribly, the thief trembled and turned
pale. For he remembered the dreadful roar which had followed him that
day as he galloped away across the sand holding Silly's halter. The poor
donkey was quivering with fear, thinking that this time he was surely
going to be eaten piecemeal. But after all this trouble on Silly's
account, the very idea of tasting donkey made Leo sick. He only wanted
to show Gerasimus what a mistake had been made.
All this time Gerasimus had been wondering what the lion's strange
behavior meant. But when he saw Leo seize the donkey's bridle, he began
to suspect the truth. He ran up and examined the donkey carefully. Then
Leo looked up in his face and growled softly, as if to say:--
"Here is your old donkey, safe and sound. You see I didn't eat him after
all. _That_ is the real thief," and turning to the Camel Driver, he
showed his teeth and looked so fierce that the man hid behind a camel,
crying, "Take away the lion! Kill the wicked lion!" But Gerasimus seized
Silly by the bridle.
"This is my beast," he said, "and I shall lead him home with me. You
stole him, Thief, and my noble lion has found you out," and he laid his
hand tenderly on Leo's head.
"He is mine, you shall not have him!" cried the Camel Driver, dodging
out from behind the camel, and trying to drag the donkey away from
Gerasimus. But with a dreadful roar, Leo sprang upon him, and with his
great paw knocked him down and sat upon his stomach.
"Do not hurt him, Leo," said Gerasimus gently. But to the Camel Driver
he was very stern. "Look out, Sir Thief," he said, "how you steal again
the donkey of an honest man. Even the yellow beasts of the desert know
better than that, and will make you ashamed. Be thankful that you escape
so easily."
Then he took the baskets from Leo's back and bound them upon Silly, who
was glad to receive them once more from his own master's hands. For the
Camel Driver had been cruel to him and had often beaten him. So he
resolved never again to stray away as he had done that unlucky time. And
when they were all ready to start, Gerasimus called Leo, and he got up
from the chest of the Camel Driver, where he had been sitting all this
time, washing his face with his paws and smiling.
"My poor old Leo!" said Gerasimus, with tears in his eyes, "I have made
you suffer cruelly for a crime of which you were not guilty. But I will
make it up to you."
Then happily the three set out for home, and all the way Gerasimus kept
his arm about the neck of his lion, who was wild with joy because he and
his dear master were friends once more, and the dreadful mistake was
discovered.
They had a joyful reception at the monastery on the hill. Of course
every one was glad to see poor Silly again; but best of all it was to
know that their dear old lion was not a wicked murderer. They petted him
and gave him so many good things to eat that he almost burst with
fatness. They made him a soft bed, and all the monks took turns in
scratching his chin for ten minutes at a time, which was what Leo loved
better than anything else in the world.
And so he dwelt happily with the good monks, one of the most honored
brothers of the monastery. Always together he and Gerasimus lived and
slept and ate and took their walks. And at last after many, many years,
they grew old together, and very tired and sleepy. So one night
Gerasimus, who had become an Abbot, the head of the monastery, lay
gently down to rest, and never woke up in the morning. But the great
lion loved him so that when they laid Saint Gerasimus to sleep under a
beautiful plane-tree in the garden, Leo lay down upon the mound moaning
and grieving, and would not move. So his faithful heart broke that day,
and he, too, slept forever by his dear master's side.
But this was not a sad thing that happened. For think how dreadful the
days would have been for Leo without Gerasimus. And think how sad a life
Gerasimus would have spent if Leo had left him first. Oh, no; it was not
sad, but very, very beautiful that the dear Saint and his friendly beast
could be happy together all the day, and when the long night came they
could sleep together side by side in the garden.