hey dare not hurt you now you have
found your son to protect you. Come every day with my brothers to my
table, and you and yours shall share my food, as once I so often shared
yours."

And so it was. Every day after that so long as she lived the old
wolf-mother brought her four children to the Bishop's palace and howled
at the gate for the porter to let them in. And every day he opened to
them, and the steward showed the five into the great dining hall where
Ailbe sat at the head of the table, with five places set for the rest of
the family. And there with her five dear children about her in a happy
circle the kind wolf-mother sat and ate the good things which the
Bishop's friends had sent him. But the child she loved best was none of
those in furry coats and fine whiskers who looked like her; it was the
blue-eyed Saint at the top of the table in his robes of purple and
white.

But Saint Ailbe would look about him at his mother and his brothers and
would laugh contentedly.

"What a handsome family we are!" he would say. And it was true.

SAINT RIGOBERT'S DINNER

SAINT RIGOBERT was hungry. He had eaten nothing that morning, neither
had little Pierre, his serving lad, who trotted along before him on the
road to Rheims. They were going to visit Wibert, the Deputy-Governor of
Rheims, to pay him some money which the Bishop owed,--all the money
which he had in the world. And that is why they had nothing left to buy
them a breakfast, and why little Pierre gazed into the bakers' shops so
hungrily and licked his lips as they passed. Good Saint Rigobert did not
see the windows of buns and tarts and pasties as they went along, for
his eyes were bent upon the ground and he was singing hymns over to
himself under his breath. Still, he too was very faint.

Saint Rigobert was poor. He was a good old Bishop; but the King of
France did not love him, and had sent him away from the court and the
big, rich city to live among the poor folk in the country. Saint
Rigobert did not mind this very much, for he loved the pretty little
village of Gernicour where he lived. He loved the people who dwelled
there, too; and especially he loved Pierre, who had come to his home to
be his little page and helper.

The people of the village meant to be kind and generous; but they were
mostly stupid folk who saw only what was in front of their noses. And
they did not guess how very poor their dear Bishop was. They were poor,
too, and had to