Out of the door full fast he fled."

The Man of God immediately resuscitated the tender victims by the laying
of hands on the salting-tub.

Such is, in substance, the story of the old anonymous rhyme. It bears
the inimitable stamp of honesty and good faith. Scepticism seems
ill-inspired when it attacks the most vital memories of the popular
mind. It is not without a lively satisfaction that I have found myself
able to reconcile the authority of the ballad with the silence of the
ancient biographers of the Lycian pontiff. I am happy to proclaim the
result of my long meditations and scholastic researches. The miracle of
the salting-tub is true, in so far as essentials are concerned, but it
was not the blessed Bishop of Myra who performed it; it was another St.
Nicolas, for there were two: one, as we have already stated, Bishop
of Myra in Lycia; the other more recent, Bishop of Trinqueballe in
Vervignole. For me was reserved the task of distinguishing between them.
It was the Bishop of Trinqueballe who rescued the three little boys from
the salting-tub. I shall establish the fact by authentic documents, and
no one will have occasion to deplore the end of a legend.

I have been fortunate enough to recover the entire history of the Bishop
Nicolas and the children whom he resuscitated. I have fashioned it
into in a narrative which will be read, I hope, with both pleasure and
profit.

CHAPTER I

NICOLAS, a scion of an illustrious family of Vervignole, showed marks of
sanctity from his earliest childhood, and at the age of fourteen vowed
to consecrate himself to the Lord. Having embraced the ecclesiastical
profession, he was raised, while still young, by popular acclamation and
the wish of the Chapter, to the see of St. Cromadaire, the apostle of
Vervignole, and first Bishop of Trinqueballe. He exercised his pastoral
ministry with piety, governed his clergy with wisdom, taught the people,
and feared not to remind the great of Justice and Moderation. He was
liberal, profuse in almsgiving, and set aside for the poor the greater
part of his wealth.

His castle proudly lifted its crenelated walls and pepper-pot roofs from
the summit of a hill overlooking the town. He made of it a refuge where
all who were pursued by the secular arm might find a place of refuge. In
the lower hall, the largest to be seen in all Vervignole, the table laid
for meals was so long that those who sat at one end saw it lose itself
in the