I know he would have loved Cubs, because he loved small boys and wild
animals; in fact, a certain wolf was a great friend of his; and he
thought it worth while, once, to preach a beautiful sermon to a flock of
birds. He was always laughing or singing or doing something Cubby, and
he had ideas he used to teach his followers, very much like our Cub Law
and Motto. His name was St. Francis of Assisi. Now listen, for I
specially want you to make friends with St. Francis, because I love him
very much."
THE STORY OF ST. FRANCIS--I.
There was once a boy called Francis, who lived in a curious old town in
the mountains of Italy. The town was called Assisi. It was all funny
little up-and-down streets and flights of long, crooked stone steps; and
there was a wall all round (to keep enemies out), and big gates in the
wall that were closed at night. The purple hills and mountains spread
away as far as you could see beneath a blue, blue sky, and all round the
city there were vineyards, and lovely little rocky paths winding about
among the silvery olive-trees.
Francis was the son of a rich merchant called Peter Bernardone. He was a
regular Cubby boy--always laughing and singing, ready for mischief, but
still more ready to do anyone a good turn. He was Peter Bernardone's
only son, and he had a jolly good time of it, because his father had
made up his mind that young Francis should make a success of life, and
end by being a great man in the town. He used to smile to himself and
rub his hands together as he saw what a clever, handsome boy Francis was
growing up into, and how everybody loved him, and how he was always the
ringleader in all the fun. As Francis grew to be a young man his father
would encourage him to give lots of feasts to his friends, not minding
how much they cost, and it pleased him to see that it was always Francis
who was the life of these feasts, making jokes, leading cheerful
singsongs, enjoying himself no end, and making everyone else enjoy
themselves. But while Peter Bernardone chuckled to see young Francis so
gay and popular, Francis' mother, Pica, used to notice little things
that made her happy too, only in a different way. She noticed that
Francis never really gave in to himself, like his wild friends; never
overate himself in a greedy way or drank enough wine to make him drunk;
never thought it funny to tell nasty stories or swear; and if ever God's
name was mentioned, it seemed to make him serious for a moment. "One
day," she said, "he will become a son of God." But her friends thought
it a silly remark to make, for Francis seemed to be living just to
please himself and have a jolly time. But mothers are generally right in
what they prophesy about their sons, and Pica's remark was really a very
true one. This story is all about how Francis gave up being a rich
merchant's son and became a poor man who found all his joy and his
riches in calling _God_ his _Father_. The change did not come easily,
and a great many wonderful adventures befell him, which I am going to
tell you now.
It all began with a war between Assisi and another city. Of course,
Francis and his pals joined in the fray and thought it great sport, till
they got captured and carried off prisoners. It was not sport at all
being shut up in stuffy old houses with only a little food and nothing
to do. Francis used to cheer them up with troubadour songs and stories.
But although he always seemed so cheerful, it was doing great harm to
his health, and when, after a year, the prisoners were freed and
returned to Assisi, Francis became very ill indeed. So ill was he that
he came near dying, and this experience of nearly passing out into the
next life made him begin to think seriously. When he was well enough to
go out, walking slowly with a stick because of his weakness, he felt
that life could never be quite the same; he must _do_ something, take a
man's place in the world.
Well, the chance soon came, for all the young Christian men were called
out to fight in a Crusade. A certain nobleman of Assisi started getting
up a party, and Francis decided to join him. He soon had all his
kit--armour, a bright sword, a good horse, and all complete; and with a
gay heart, full of a thirst for adventure and a determination to do
great things, he waited impatiently for the start. He had been rather
puzzled as to what to do with himself, and now he felt he had hit on the
right plan. So it was a bit of a surprise when, his very first night
away, something happened which unsettled his mind altogether and made
him feel it was not God's will that he should go to the Crusades.
The night before the party set out Francis had had a very curious dream,
about a beautiful palace, all hung round with knightly arms, which a
mysterious voice told him was for him and his followers. This made him
so happy that the next day, when someone asked him what good fortune he
had had, he replied that now he knew for certain he was to be a great
prince and leader of men. But the next night, as he lay in the hostelry
on the first halt along the road, something still more strange happened.
He was not asleep, and yet, through the still darkness, he heard the
mysterious voice of his dream, and it said: "Francis, whom is it better
to serve, the lord or the servant?" "Surely it is better to serve the
lord," replied Francis, softly, into the dark. And the voice answered:
"Why, then, dost thou make a lord of the servant?" Then it all seemed to
flash on Francis, and he felt sure this was a Voice from heaven, and he
replied very humbly: "Lord, what dost Thou wish me to do?" And the Voice
said: "Return to the land of thy birth, and there it will be told thee
what thou shalt do; for it may behove thee to give another meaning to
thy dream." He felt so positive that the Voice was from heaven, that he
felt he simply could not disobey it. So, although it cost him a lot to
do it, he turned his horse's head northwards and rode home.
There was nothing to do now but wait for God to show him His Will. He
tried to settle down again to his old life of feasting and gaiety, but
somehow he couldn't throw himself into it. There was something he was
feeling after, but he didn't know what.
One day something happened which was the beginning of great things.
Francis had been out for a ride beyond the city. As he turned his
horse's head homewards and rode slowly back towards the golden sunset,
he suddenly saw, a little way ahead, something that made him shudder and
almost turn aside on to another path. It was a poor leper, his filthy
rags only half covering his wretched body, with its horrible running
sores. His face was swollen and disfigured, and his eyes full of the
frightened misery of a hunted animal. Now, seeing lepers always made
Francis feel quite sick. He hated horrible sights. But somehow,
to-night, a new feeling woke up in him--a sudden feeling of brotherhood
with this poor man, almost of love for him. It was such terribly bad
luck that he had caught leprosy and become a ghastly sight, so that he
could not earn any money nor come near the town. Francis felt in his
wallet for a silver piece to give him, and then he thought how sad it
must be to have money flung at you by strangers, who passed by with head
turned away because they loathed the very sight of you. How the lepers
must long for just a friendly look, a smile! A great idea suddenly leapt
up in Francis's mind, and it took all his courage not to give in to
himself. As he came up with the leper, he jumped off his horse, took a
silver piece from his pocket, and held it out to the man. The leper,
full of surprise, held out his poor swollen stump of a hand, with
several fingers already rotted away, to take the coin. But meeting the
man's eyes, and seeing in them the look of hunger for friendship,
Francis took the poor hand in his, as he would the hand of his friend,
pressed the coin into it, and then, stooping, pressed his lips upon it
in a kiss. Then, with his heart full of joy, he remounted his horse and
rode home.
With that kiss a wonderful new idea had sprung up in Francis's heart--a
sense of love for the poor, of longing not only to help them, but to
share their very lives, to be one of them. At first he tried to satisfy
his longing to help them by making great feasts and serving his poor
guests with his own hands. One day he went on a pilgrimage to Rome, and
as he saw the crowd of beggars clustering round a certain shrine in hope
that the pilgrims would give them money, he longed to become just one of
them. So, taking one of them aside, he exchanged his fine clothes with
the beggar for his dirty rags, and spent the whole day with his poor
brothers in the dust and the scorching sun, enjoying the sense of being
a mere outcast to whom rich men threw ha'pence.
Still, when he returned to his home he was as puzzled as ever as to what
he should do. He took to spending long hours at prayer in a certain cave
begging God to make known His Will; and at last God answered his prayer,
and I will tell you how.
Francis had been for a long walk outside the city, and as he returned
along the stony little mountain paths, the evening sunlight dazzling
his eyes, and the olive-trees whispering to each other in the soft
evening air, he noticed a tumble-down little wayside church. Something
made him stop and turn in.
It was very dim and cool and quiet. There was no one there--except God.
A lamp burned with a feeble flicker in the sanctuary. Francis knelt down
and began to pray. Then, out of the stillness a strange, wonderful Voice
spoke his name--"_Francis_." He knew directly Whose Voice it was--Our
Blessed Lord's. "Yes, Lord," he answered, his heart beating rather fast,
though he felt very happy. "Francis, go and repair My church, which thou
seest falling," said the Voice. Then all was still.
The tones of that Voice seemed to vibrate through and through Francis.
He was filled with a great desire to obey--to do anything, anything Our
Lord wanted. "Repair My church," He had said. He must mean this poor
little tumble-down house of His, that was certainly on the point of
falling. So Francis jumped up from his knees and went out into the
sunlight very happy. He found the old priest, who lived in a poor little
house near by, and, telling him the wonderful thing that had happened,
gave him all the money he had, and promised to return soon with enough
to rebuild the church. Then he hurried home.
His father was away on a journey. So Francis went down to the warehouse
and picked out the most costly bale of rich stuff he could find. Then he
took a good horse, and, putting the bale of stuff on his back, set out
for the town of Foligno. Here he sold both the stuff and the horse, and
returned with a good sum of money. Full of joy, he hurried along the
little mountain path to the old priest's house, and held out the heavy
purse of gold to him. But the priest was afraid to accept it, for he was
not at all sure that Francis's father would be pleased about it. Francis
was disappointed. He had got the money for the church, and certainly
wasn't going to carry it home again; so he threw it into the deep recess
of one of the windows of the little church, and left it there. Then he
told the priest he meant to stay, for here Our Lord had spoken to him,
and he must stay and see to the building of the church.
The old priest was very kind, and let Francis share his little house and
his poor fare, and Francis began to feel like a kind of hermit, living a
life of prayer.
Meanwhile Peter Bernardone returned from his journey. When he heard what
Francis had done, and his new, mad idea of living like a hermit on the
mountain-side, he was furiously angry. Taking a stick in his hand, he
set out, saying he would teach the young fool a good lesson and bring
him home. But one of the servants ran ahead by a short cut and warned
Francis. Francis had no wish to meet his angry father armed with a stout
stick, so he fled and hid himself in a cave, and Peter Bernardone had to
go home again, even angrier than he set out. For about ten days Francis
stayed in hiding, the servant bringing him food. He spent this time in
prayer. This made him braver, and he began to think that he had been a
"funk" to run away and hide and not face the music, so he decided to
make up for it by being braver.
His time of hiding in the dark, dirty cave, with little food, had made
him look thin, untidy, and a bit of a scarecrow. The people of Assisi
had heard what he had done, and they decided he must have gone mad. So
when he appeared in the city the boys began throwing stones and rubbish
at him, and calling after him. Francis bore it all patiently, and felt
rather a hero. But presently Peter Bernardone discovered that his son
was being insulted in the streets. It filled him with rage, and he
rushed out, dragged Francis indoors, gave him a good flogging and shut
him up in a little cell. Here he had to stay for some time, until his
father went on another journey and his mother let him out. Of course,
he went straight back to the little church on the hill-side, and here,
when his father came back, he found him. Peter Bernardone stormed at him
and demanded the money back, but Francis would not give it, saying he
had given it to God. So Peter Bernardone went to the Bishop about it.
The matter came up at the Bishop's Court, and the Bishop had to tell
Francis to give back the money. Bernardone was so angry with his son
that he then and there disinherited him, and said he would not own him
as his son any more. So Francis took off his very clothes and gave them
back to his father, saying, "Now will I say no more Peter Bernardone is
my father, but only 'Our Father Who art in heaven.'" So, taking the
bundle of clothes, old Bernardone stalked out of the Court.
Someone fetched Francis a rough habit, such as was worn by the
farm-hands. On this Francis chalked a big cross, and, putting it on,
stepped out joyfully, feeling that at last he was free to serve God, in
whatever way He wanted him to, and share the life of the poor.
He felt somehow that he must get right away, alone; so he started
walking up over the mountains, not caring where he went. Soon he was
right up among the pines, and as night fell he found it was pretty cold,
for the winter's snow still lay in the deep shade of the trees. But he
was so happy that he did not care for anything, and as he went he sang
aloud for joy.
Then, suddenly, out of the dark wood a band of robbers pounced on him.
"Who are you?" they cried. "I am the herald of the great King!" answered
Francis. So they stripped him of his habit, and threw him in a ditch
full of snow.
Luckily, the next day he found a friend in a town the other side of the
mountains, who gave him a pilgrim's cloak, a pair of shoes, and a staff.
Then, after a bit more wandering, St. Francis returned to the little
church and settled down with the old priest, meaning now in good earnest
to build up the church.
Since he had no money to buy what was needed, the only thing was to beg.
So he went out in the streets begging for stones to build up the little
church. The poor people were very kind, and gave him stones, and some of
them came and helped, and soon they and Francis together had begun
rebuilding the walls. Every day Francis went begging, and sometimes it
was very hard not to _give in to himself_ and go skulking down a
side-street when he saw a group of his old friends ahead. But he went
bravely on, and faced their stares and laughter.
One day it struck Francis that he ought not to be eating the old
priest's scanty store of food, which he noticed his kind old friend used
to cook and try and prepare as nicely as possible for him. This was not
what a true lover of poverty should do. "Rise up, thou lazy one," he
said to himself, "and go begging from door to door the leavings of the
table." So, taking a big dish, he went round the houses of the
townspeople asking for scraps. They gave him broken bits of messy old
food, and he returned with his dish full. But when he sat down to supper
he didn't feel at all like eating from that pile of scraps--the very
thought made him feel quite sick. But he was learning to conquer
himself, and by the time the meal was done he felt he had really
accomplished something, and was at last really a poor man and ready to
live on what God's mercy would give him from day to day.
All this time he had been praying a great deal, and learning to know God
very much better. More and more he felt that God meant to use him for
something special--_what_ he did not know.
At last the little grey church was all built up new and strong, and
Francis felt the job Our Lord had given him was done. But as God had not
shown him anything else to do, he set out and found another tumble-down
little church to build up, and started on that. When that, too, was
finished, he started on a third one. The third one had been restored,
and a service was being held in it for the first time since its
restoration, and Francis was assisting at this service, when something
happened which sent him on a new adventure, and which proved to be the
beginning of the great adventure which filled all the rest of his life.
* * * * *
"That's a good stop," said Akela. "If we started on St. Francis's next
adventure, we could not finish it before you all fell asleep. So we will
keep it for to-morrow night. To-morrow you will hear how the boy Francis
turns into the man St. Francis, and what a wonderful life of service and
suffering for God he begins to have, and how he ends in becoming a great
Saint, and one of the greatest leaders of men."
THE SIXTH DAY
The splashing sound of Cubs making good use of soap and water; snatches
of cheerful song; the lamentation of someone who had lost the "relation"
of his left sand-shoe; the sound of a Sixer trying to make a sleepy-head
turn out--all these sounds filled the sunny morning. Presently there
fell on the ears of Akela (who was still in her "den") the sound of an
argument.
"I say it's _dirt_," cried one; "he's a dirty-neck, who doesn't know how
to wash himself. . . ."
"'Taint!" squealed a small Cub; "it's the sun what's made my neck
_brown_."
"Garn! it's not using soap what's made your neck that colour, dirty
little. . . ."
_Splosh!_ Somebody got a wet flannel in the eye that time.
"Now, then, what's up?" cries a Sixer, coming up to the group. Quite a
little crowd collects.
"He says my neck's _dirty_," wails the small Cub, "and really it's the
sun. . . ."
Someone has a bright idea: "Let's ask Miss."
So Akela comes out, and scrubs the neck in question with soap and
flannel. It turns out to be nearly all sunburn, with just a _little_
dirt.
The sun is shining, and the sky is full of "flocks of sheep"--those
tiny, steady white clouds that stretch in close rows across the sky in
fine weather. The dew on the grass is nearly dry already when the Cubs
get to the field.
"Prayers!" calls Akela, and the Cubs come up quietly and form a kneeling
circle.
I haven't told you what the morning prayers of the Cubs were, so I will
tell you now.
A PRAYER THAT WE MAY PRAY WELL (_see page 6_).
OUR FATHER.
_V._ Incline unto mine aid, O God.
_R._ O Lord, make haste to help me.
Glory be to the Father, etc.
HYMN.
The star of morn to night succeeds,
We therefore meekly pray:
May God in all our words and deeds
Keep us from harm this day.
May He in love restrain us still
From tones of strife and words of ill;
And may earth's beauties that we see
Remind us always, Lord, of Thee. _Amen._
CONFESSION.
I confess to Almighty God that I have sinned
against Him in thought, word, and deed. (_Pause a
moment and think of your sins._) May Almighty God
have mercy upon us, and forgive us our sins, and
bring us to life everlasting.
_Let us pray_
A PRAYER THAT THIS DAY MAY BE PLEASING TO GOD.
O Lord God Almighty, Who hast brought us to the
beginning of this day, defend us in the same by
Thy power, that we may not fall this day into any
sin, but that all our thoughts, words, and works
may be directed to the fulfilment of THY WILL.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, Thy Son. _Amen._
OUR FATHER.
A PRAYER THAT WE MAY BE FORGIVEN ANY WANDERING
THOUGHTS WE HAVE HAD WHILE RECITING THESE PRAYERS.
Breakfast over, and orderly jobs finished, the Pack went down to the
shore and had a splendid bathe. Several of the Cubs had really begun to
swim; while Bill, Dick, and Mac, who could swim already, were getting
good practice. Mac meant to get his Swimmer's Badge as soon as he got
back to London, so he practised floating and duck's diving and the other
things you have to do.
After dinner and rest Father took some cricket practice, because
to-morrow there was to be a match.
"No one must talk to me," said Akela, settling down in a sunny corner
with some papers; "I'm doing something very important." Cubs always want
to know everything, so of course they said, _What was the important
thing?_
"Reading proof," said Akela.
"What's 'proof'?" said the Cubs.
"This is proof," said Akela, holding out a long narrow strip of printed
paper. "It's the way they print stories at first, and it has mistakes in
it. I have to read it through and correct the mistakes. Now, if you
don't shut up and go away, the next instalment in the _Wolf Cub_ will
have mistakes in it--see?"
"Is it the next bit of the 'Mysterious Tramp'?" cried the Cubs.
"Yes."
That did it. A Cub sat down each side of Akela and read over her
shoulder, and one jumped up and down in front, saying: "Miss, is it
good?"
Every now and then Akela made strange little squiggles in the
margin--secret signs only the printer-man could understand.
"_Coo!_ what silly mistakes he makes!" said one of the Cubs in derision.
"I wouldn't have done that in dictation even when I was in Standard I.!"
"_I_ think he makes very few mistakes," said Akela; "other printer-men
make lots more. You see, this one is printing the _Wolf Cub_, so he has
to _do his best_."
The cricket people had been "doing _their_ best" at cricket to such good
purpose that they had succeeded in splitting one of the bats.
So after tea Akela and some of them went down to the man who sells bats
and golf-balls, down by the tennis-courts. The road where his shop is
runs between the seashore and a big stretch of grassy land, called the
Dover.
"That," said Akela, "is the very place where Billy got carried up by the
giant kite."
It was a favourite story of the Cubs, so they were pleased to see the
place.
"Is that the fierce bull?" said one.
"No," said Akela, "that's a sleepy old cow."
The man said he would mend the bat in time for to-morrow's match.
THE STORY OF ST. FRANCIS.--II.
The little church St. Francis had last restored was very wee, but it had
a very long name. It was called the Portiuncola, which meant "the little
portion." It was built all among the trees and long grass, and mossy,
fern-covered rocks; and the birds sang around it. St. Francis loved the
spot very much--it was like home to him--and he spent a lot of time
there. Besides, it was not far from the leper settlement, and he had now
taken on himself the rather horrible job of serving the poor lepers--a
job that was very pleasing to Our Lord, specially as He saw St. Francis
did it all for love of Him, and served each wretched man as if he was
Jesus Christ. Then, too, the Portiuncola was not very far from the town
where Francis begged his food.
Well, early one morning, while the sun shone outside on the dewy world,
and the birds sang their morning hymns of praise, a priest said Mass in
the little chapel, and St. Francis knelt praying with all his heart.
Presently the priest read out the Gospel, and, as usual, St. Francis
listened with great attention. And suddenly, as he listened, he felt
that those words of Our Lord which the priest was reading out were a
message from heaven for _him_--_the very "orders" he had been waiting
for_! These were the words:
"Going forth, preach, saying: The kingdom of heaven is at hand. . . .
Possess not gold, nor silver, nor money in your houses, nor scrip for
your journey, nor two coats, nor shoes, nor a staff; for the workman is
worthy of his meat. And into whatsoever city or town you shall enter,
inquire who in it is worthy, and there abide till you go hence. And when
you come into a house, salute it, saying: Peace be to this house. . . .
Behold I send you as sheep in the midst of wolves. Be ye therefore wise
as serpents, but simple as doves. . . . But when they shall deliver you
up, take no thought how or what to speak: for it shall be given you in
that hour what to speak" (Matt. x. 7-19).
Here were clear orders. Something in St. Francis answered to that call,
and this something was the Holy Spirit of God speaking in his heart, as
He always does in those who really wait and listen and _mean_ to obey
should God speak.