my king, since he is stronger than you."

Many days he searched, but alas! few could tell him anything of his
new king, the Son of Mary. At last he found an old hermit and asked
him the question he had asked so many others.

"How can I serve the Son of Mary?"

"You must fast," said the hermit.

"Ah, no!" said Offero. "If I fasted I should lose my great strength."

"Then you must pray," said the hermit.

"How can I pray?" asked Offero, "I know no prayers."

"Then," said the gentle old man, "I think the Son of Mary would be
pleased to have you use your strength in some good work. Why not carry
travellers across the stream in the name of the Son of Mary?"

"That is just to my mind," cried Offero, overjoyed. So straightway he
built a hut by the swift stream, and cut a stout staff to steady his
steps when the river roared high.

Travellers were glad to be helped on their way by this rough yet
kindly giant. Sometimes they offered him money, but he always shook
his great head. "I do this for the love of the Son of Mary," he said.

Many years went by. Offero's hair was now white as snow and his back
was a little bent. But his strength was still great. One night, as he
lay asleep, he was awakened by a voice, such a gentle, pleading little
voice--"Dear, good, kind Offero, carry me across!"

He sprang to his feet, caught up his staff, and crossed to the farther
shore. No one was there.

"I must have been dreaming," thought Offero as he laid himself down in
his bed once more.

Again he fell asleep and again the same voice awoke him. How sweet,
yet sad it sounded! "Dear, good, kind Offero, carry me across!"

He patiently crossed the deep, swift river, but again no one was to be
seen. Once more he lay down in his bed and fell asleep. And once more
came the pleading little voice, "Dear, good, kind Offero, carry me
across!"

And now, for the third time, the old giant seized his palm-tree staff
and pressed through the cold river. There on the shore stood "a
tender, fair little boy with golden hair. He looked at the giant with
eyes full of trust and love."

Offero tossed him on his shoulder and then turned to the river. Dark
and surging it rose to his waist. The child grew heavier and heavier.
The giant bent under his burden. Now and then he felt he should surely
sink into the river and be swept away.

At last he struggled up the bank and set down the child. "My little
Master," he gasped, "do not pass this way again