be careful of their little bits of money. But they all
had vegetables and milk and eggs and butter, and if every one had helped
a little, as they ought,--for he was always doing kind things for
them,--Saint Rigobert would not have gone hungry so often.

It made the Bishop sorry to find them so careless, but he never
complained. He would not tell them, nor beg them to help him, and often
even little Pierre did not know how long he fasted. For he would give
the boy all the supper and keep none himself. But he was always cheery
and contented. He always had a kind word for the people as he passed
them on the street. And when he went to the big town of Rheims near by
he never complained to the Governor there about what a poor, miserable
parish he lived in, or how little the people of Gernicour did for their
Bishop. For he liked to believe that they did the best they could.

And that is why, when the two came into Wibert's hall, Saint Rigobert
paid the money to the Governor without a word of his hunger or his
faintness. And even when he saw the great table laid for dinner and the
smoking dishes brought in by a procession of serving men, he turned away
resolutely and tried not to show how tempting the good things looked and
smelled. He gathered up the folds of his robe, and taking his Bishop's
staff in his hand, rose to go back to Gernicour and his dinnerless
house. But as they were leaving the hall, Pierre trailing out very
reluctantly with many a backward look, Wibert the governor called them
back. Perhaps he had seen the longing in the eyes of little Pierre as
the great haunch of venison was set on the board. Perhaps he had noticed
how pale and hollow Saint Rigobert's cheeks were, and half guessed the
cause. At all events he said kindly:--

"I pray thee, stay and dine with us, thou and the boy yonder. See, the
meat is ready, and there is room for many more at table."

But Saint Rigobert had a service to hold in the church at Gernicour, and
knew they had barely time to reach home if they walked briskly. Besides,
he was too proud to accept charity, and for the sake of his people he
feared to let the Governor see how very hungry he was.

"Nay," he answered gently, "I thank thee for thy courtesy, friend
Wibert. But we may not tarry. The time scants us for a dinner before the
service in the church at Gernicour, and we must hasten or we be late.
Come, lad, we must be stirring anon."

Tears of disappointment were standing in