man who longs to live for your sake only."

"I should have been very willing to be still, for I love my father as
well as any one else."

"You do not beat him," replied Paulus, "you carry him bread and water,
and do not drink up the wine yourself, which the Bishop sends him home
from the Lord's supper; that is something certainly, but not enough by a
long way."

"I am no saint!"

"Nor I neither," exclaimed Paulus, "I am full of sin and weakness. But I
know what the love is which was taught us by the Saviour, and that you
too may know. He suffered on the cross for you, and for me, and for all
the poor and vile. Love is at once the easiest and the most difficult of
attainments. It requires sacrifice. And you? How long is it now since you
last showed your father a cheerful countenance?"

"I cannot be a hypocrite."

"Nor need you, but you must love. Certainly it is not by what his hand
does but by what his heart cheerfully offers, and by what he forces
himself to give up that a man proves his love."

"And is it no sacrifice that I waste all my youth here?" asked the boy.

Paulus stepped back from him a little way, shook his matted head, and
said, "Is that it? You are thinking of Alexandria! Ay! no doubt life runs
away much quicker there than on our solitary mountain. You do not fancy
the tawny shepherd girl, but perhaps some pretty pink and white Greek
maiden down there has looked into your eyes?"

"Let me alone about the women," answered Hermas, with genuine annoyance.
"There are other things to look at there."

The youth's eyes sparkled as he spoke, and Paulus asked, not without
interest, "Indeed?"

"You know Alexandria better than I," answered Hermas evasively. "You were
born there, and they say you had been a rich young man."

"Do they say so?" said Paulus. "Perhaps they are right; but you must know
that I am glad that nothing any longer belongs to me of all the vanities
that I possessed, and I thank my Saviour that I can now turn my back on
the turmoil of men. What was it that seemed to you so particularly
tempting in all that whirl?"

Hermas hesitated. He feared to speak, and yet something urged and drove
him to say out all that was stirring his soul. If any one of all those
grave men who despised the world and among whom he had grown up, could
ever understand him, he knew well that it would be Paulus; Paulus whose
rough beard he had pulled when he was little, on whose shoulders he had
often sat, and