d
not without some anxious excitement. "However strong your arm may be, any
novice could throw farther than you if only he knew the art of holding
the discus. It is not so--not so; it must cut through the air like a
knife with its sharp edge. Look how you hold your hand, you throw like a
woman! The wrist straight, and now your left foot behind, and your knee
bent! see, how clumsy you are! Here, give me the stone. You take the
discus so, then you bend your body, and press down your knees like the
arc of a bow, so that every sinew in your body helps to speed the shot
when you let go. Aye--that is better, but it is not quite right yet.
First heave the discus with your arm stretched out, then fix your eye on
the mark; now swing it out high behind you--stop! once more! your arm
must be more strongly strained before you throw. That might pass, but you
ought to be able to hit the palm-tree yonder. Give me your discus, and
that stone. There; the unequal corners hinder its flight--now pay
attention!" Paulus spoke with growing eagerness, and now he grasped the
flat stone, as he might have done many years since when no youth in
Alexandria had been his match in throwing the discus.

He bent his knees, stretched out his body, gave play to his wrist,
extended his arm to the utmost and hurled the stone into space, while the
clenched toes of his right foot deeply dinted the soil.

But it fell to the ground before reaching which Paulus had indicated as
the mark.

"Wait!" cried Hermas. "Let me try now to hit the tree."

His stone whistled through the air, but it did not even reach the mound,
into which the palm-tree had struck root.

Paulus shook his head disapprovingly, and in his, turn seized a flat
stone; and now an eager contest began. At every throw Hermas' stone flew
farther, for he copied his teacher's action and grasp with increasing
skill, while the older man's arm began to tire. At last Hermas for the
second time hit the palm-tree, while Paulus had failed to reach even the
mound with his last fling.

The pleasure of the contest took stronger possession of the anchorite; he
flung his raiment from him, and seizing another stone he cried out--as
though he were standing once more in the wrestling school among his old
companions; all shining with their anointment.

"By the silver-bowed Apollo, and the arrow-speeding Artemis, I will hit
the palm-tree."

The missile sang through the air, his body sprang back, and he stretched