, "The great graybeard looks as happy as if he had found a treasure."
Then he walked on into the valley with his scaly wares, reminded, as he
went, of his son's expression of face when his wife bore him his first
little one.

Near the watch-tower at the edge of the defile, a party of anchorites
were piling some stones together. They had already heard of the bishop's
sentence on Paulus, the sinner, and they gave him no greeting. He
observed it and was silent, but when they could no longer see him
he laughed to himself and muttered, while he rubbed a weal that the
centurion's whip had left upon his back, "If they think that a Gaul's
cudgel has a pleasant flavor they are mistaken, however I would not
exchange it for a skin of Anthyllan wine; and if they could only know
that at least one of the stripes which torments me is due to each one of
themselves, they would be surprised! But away with pride! How they spat
on Thee, Jesus my Lord, and who am I, and how mildly have they dealt
with me, when I for once have taken on my back another's stripes. Not a
drop of blood was drawn! I wish the old man had hit harder!"

He walked cheerfully forward, and his mind recurred to the centurion's
speech that he could if he list, "tread him down like a worm," and he
laughed again softly, for he was quite aware that he was ten times
as strong as Phoebicius, and formerly he had overthrown the braggart
Arkesilaos of Kyrene and his cousin, the tall Xenophanes, both at once
in the sand of the Palaestra. Then he thought of Hermas, of his sweet
dead mother, and of his father, and--which was the most comforting
thought of all--of how he had spared the old man this bitter sorrow.

On his path there grew a little plant with a reddish blossom. In years
he had never looked at a flower or, at any rate, had never wished to
possess one; to-day he stooped down over the blossom that graced the
rock, meaning to pluck it. But he did not carry out his intention, for
before he had laid his hand upon it, he reflected:

"To whom could I offer it? And perhaps the flowers themselves rejoice in
the light, and in the silent life that is in their roots. How tightly it
clings to the rock. Farther away from the road flowers of even greater
beauty blow, seen by no mortal eye; they deck themselves in beauty for
no one but for their Creator, and because they rejoice in themselves. I
too will withdraw from the highways of mankind; let them accuse me! So
long as I live at