"Many hundreds of years ago," said the Bishop, "there lived a great
King, very wise and splendid, who was loved by all his people. To please
them he gave a great feast to celebrate his birthday. All the people put
on their holiday clothes and came to the Palace garden, where they
feasted and danced, wrestled, and took part in many sports. When the sun
began to slope down towards the west, the trumpets blared forth, calling
the people to come together in the wide space before the Palace, where
the King would speak to his subjects, and where they would hail him with
cheers and do him honour.
"So a great crowd collected, and the King, in scarlet and ermine and
gold, stepped forth upon the dais that had been decked with flowers and
cloth of gold for his honour. And it was at this moment that a tramp of
feet was heard, a champing of bits, the noise of people arriving from a
journey. All heads were turned to see who was coming. Then two heralds,
clad in green and gold, stepped forward and made low obeisance and
delivered their message. They had come from a neighbouring Prince to
wish the King all good fortune upon his birthday, and to bring him a
gift. The gift, they said, was a white horse. It was the most beautiful
horse that had ever been bred in the Prince's country--perfect in every
point.
"'Bring it forth,' cried the King, very pleased with the gift, for he
loved horses.
"The heralds bowed, withdrew, and all the people waited expectantly. The
beat of hoofs sounded on the white marble pavement. A murmur of
admiration broke from the waiting crowd like the roar of the sea. A
beautiful white horse was being led forward, decked with green satin
accoutrements and hangings, studded with jewels that sparkled in the
sun. A golden bit was in his mouth, and a jewelled bridle about his
stately head. His gilded hoofs dazzled the eyes of all beholders as he
lifted his feet, stepping proudly forward to his royal master.
"But no sooner had he stepped on to the marble pavement than he stopped,
trembling and rolling his eyes in terror. The groom coaxed him, and
tried to lead him on, but every few yards he stopped, prancing
restively, swerving away, drawing back. The people ceased to applaud;
they even stilled their whispers of admiration, and held their breath.
At last the beautiful animal reached the King's throne. The King stood
up, his eyes shining with pleasure at the present. He would have
descended to the animal's side, but the horse had begun to curvet and
prance and shy away, as if from some unseen terror. In vain the groom
patted his neck and spoke soothing words into his ear. The horse's eyes
were starting from his head as if he saw something beside him which
filled him with fear. He was beginning to rear, and the Court looked on
in dismay. Had the Prince sent a wild, unbroken horse as a gift to their
King?
"Then something strange happened. A little stable boy, who had come to
the feast, stepped forward out of the crowd. Bowing low before the King,
he said that he knew why the horse was afraid and would not stand before
his Majesty.
"The King, who was always willing to hear the opinion of his very lowest
vassal if it was worth hearing, gave orders that the royal groom should
give the white horse into the charge of the little stable boy. Bowing
low, the groom withdrew, and the boy took the golden reins into his
hands. Gradually he led the horse, still prancing wildly, away past the
throne. Then some twenty yards on he stopped, turned the horse round,
and began leading him back. It was as if a miracle had been worked. The
horse was perfectly quiet, and as he was led once more before the royal
throne he stood still and calm.
[Illustration: "Gradually he led the horse, still prancing wildly, away
past the throne"]
"'Well done, little stable boy!' cried the King, stepping from his
golden dais and patting the beautiful animal's neck. 'But tell me,
little friend, why was he afraid?'
"'Sire,' said the boy, bending his knee, ''twas his own black shadow on
the marble floor he feared. I did but turn his face to the sun, and the
shadow is behind him, where he sees it not.'
"How do you boys go through your day?" asked the old Bishop, looking at
each one with his keen, kind eyes, that twinkled like little blue jewels
in his wrinkled face. "Do you go through the day filled with
discontent?--trying first to avoid doing this disagreeable thing, and
then that one? Afraid of a little trouble, a little pain, a little
hardship? Do you pull away every time your conscience says, 'Tommy, come
this way: do that'? Do you jump about and shy, and try and run away,
like the white horse, when your mother has told you to do something or
other? And are you always nervous--afraid of being 'found out'? And if
you are alone in the dark do you get 'creeps,' and think there are
bogeys coming after you?"
Some of the Cubs looked down on the ground, and answered nothing. They
wondered how the Bishop knew all about them, when he was a stranger.
"Do you know how I know some boys are like that?" he said at length.
"You see I have not always been a Bishop, and I have not always been
very, very old! Once I was a very naughty small boy, and I can still
remember exactly how it felt. I used to do all those things I mentioned
to you just now. In fact, I behaved like the white horse; because, you
see, I was looking at my shadow--that is, at my ugly little black self,
and all _I_ wanted. I couldn't help seeing myself all the time, and I
was always discontented. Why was it the horse saw his shadow?"
"'Cos he'd got his back to the sun," said one of the Cubs.
"Yes," said the Bishop, "and so had I--that's why I couldn't help always
seeing myself. And then, one day, I turned round and faced the sun; that
is, I turned and fixed my eyes on _God_, the great, shining Sun of our
life--and my own shadow fell behind me, and I forgot all about what _I_
felt, and _I_ wanted. And I became so happy! And I wasn't afraid of
being 'found out' any more. And I didn't get creeps in the dark. And it
became easy to do all the hard things, because I was facing God and
doing them for Him."
. . . . . . . .
"Wish the Bishop would come every week," said the Cubs, when he had
gone, "and we wouldn't mind if he preached a sermon every time!"