o Aila, and there my son Antonius,
the elder of the two that you saw just now, is going to build a House of
God, with strong walls and pillars, much larger and handsomer than our
church in the oasis, and that is his work too. He is not much older than
you are, and already he is famous among the people far and wide. Out of
those red blocks down there my younger son Polykarp will hew noble lions,
which are destined to decorate the finest building in the capital itself.
When you and I, and all that are now living, shall have been long since
forgotten, still it will be said these are the work of the Master
Polykarp, the son of Petrus, the Pharanite. What he can do is certainly a
thing peculiar to himself, no one who is not one of the chosen and gifted
ones can say, 'I will learn to do that.' But you have a sound
understanding, strong hands and open eyes, and who can tell what else
there is hidden in you. If you could begin to learn soon, it would not
yet be too late to make a worthy master of you, but of course he who
would rise so high must not be afraid of work. Is your mind set upon
fame? That is quite right, and I am very glad of it; but you must know
that he who would gather that rare fruit must water it, as a noble
heathen once said, with the sweat of his brow. Without trouble and labor
and struggles there can be no victory, and men rarely earn fame without
fighting for victory."

The old man's vehemence was contagious; the lad's spirit was roused, and
he exclaimed warmly: "What do you say? that I am afraid of struggles and
trouble? I am ready to stake everything, even my life, only to win fame.
But to measure stone, to batter defenceless blocks with a mallet and
chisel, or to join the squares with accurate pains--that does not tempt
me. I should like to win the wreath in the Palaestra by flinging the
strongest to the ground, or surpass all others as a warrior in battle; my
father was a soldier too, and he may talk as much as he will of 'peace,'
and nothing but 'peace,' all the same in his dreams he speaks of bloody
strife and burning wounds. If you only cure him I will stay no longer on
this lonely mountain, even if I must steal away in secret. For what did
God give me these arms, if not to use them?"

Petrus made no answer to these words, which came is a stormy flood from
Hermas' lips, but he stroked his grey beard, and thought to himself, "The
young of the eagle does not catch flies. I shall never win over this
so