ld the venerated body of
the royal saint, and they were accompanied by the officials of the
Cathedral, the choir chanting a litany, and a long string of nuns
bringing up the rear. Saint Frideswide was on her way to the bedside of
a paralysed rich man, who had paid an immense sum for her visit, in the
hope that he might be restored to the use of his faculties by a touch of
her miracle-working relics. As the procession passed up the street, a
door opened in the Jewry, and out came a young Jew named Dieulecresse
[Note 4], who at once set himself to make fun of Saint Frideswide.
Limping up the street as though he could scarcely stir, he suddenly drew
himself erect and walked down with a free step; clenching his hands as
if they were rigid, he then flung his arms open and worked his fingers
rapidly.

"O ye men of Oxford, bring me your oblations!" he cried. "See ye not
that I am a doer of wonders, like your saint, and that my miracles are
quite as good and real as hers?"

The procession passed on, taking no notice of the mockery. But when,
the next day, it was known that Dieulecresse had committed suicide in
the night, the priests did not spare the publication of the fact, with
the comment that Saint Frideswide had taken vengeance on her enemy, and
that her honour was fully vindicated from his aspersions.

"Ah!" said Gerhardt softly, "`those eighteen, on whom the tower in
Siloam fell!' How ready men are to account them sinners above all men
that dwell in Jerusalem! Yet it may be that they who thus judge are the
worse sinners of the two, in God's eyes, however high they stand in the
world's sight."

"Well, I don't set up to be better than other folks," said Stephen
lightly. He had brought the news. "I reckon I shall pass muster, if
I'm as good."

"That would not satisfy me," said Gerhardt. "I should want to be as
good as I could be. I could not pass beyond that. But even then--"

"That's too much trouble for me," laughed Stephen. "When you've done
your work, hand me over the goodness you don't want."

"I shall not have any, for it won't be enough."

"That's a poor lookout!"

"It would be, if I had to rely on my own goodness."

Stephen stared. "Why, whose goodness are you going to rely on?"

Gerhardt lifted his cap. "`There is none good but One,--that is, God.'"

"I reckon that's aiming a bit too high," said Stephen, with a shake of
his head. "Can't tell how you're going to get hold of that."

"No