tuff he could find. Then he
took a good horse, and, putting the bale of stuff on his back, set out
for the town of Foligno. Here he sold both the stuff and the horse, and
returned with a good sum of money. Full of joy, he hurried along the
little mountain path to the old priest's house, and held out the heavy
purse of gold to him. But the priest was afraid to accept it, for he was
not at all sure that Francis's father would be pleased about it. Francis
was disappointed. He had got the money for the church, and certainly
wasn't going to carry it home again; so he threw it into the deep recess
of one of the windows of the little church, and left it there. Then he
told the priest he meant to stay, for here Our Lord had spoken to him,
and he must stay and see to the building of the church.

The old priest was very kind, and let Francis share his little house and
his poor fare, and Francis began to feel like a kind of hermit, living a
life of prayer.

Meanwhile Peter Bernardone returned from his journey. When he heard what
Francis had done, and his new, mad idea of living like a hermit on the
mountain-side, he was furiously angry. Taking a stick in his hand, he
set out, saying he would teach the young fool a good lesson and bring
him home. But one of the servants ran ahead by a short cut and warned
Francis. Francis had no wish to meet his angry father armed with a stout
stick, so he fled and hid himself in a cave, and Peter Bernardone had to
go home again, even angrier than he set out. For about ten days Francis
stayed in hiding, the servant bringing him food. He spent this time in
prayer. This made him braver, and he began to think that he had been a
"funk" to run away and hide and not face the music, so he decided to
make up for it by being braver.

His time of hiding in the dark, dirty cave, with little food, had made
him look thin, untidy, and a bit of a scarecrow. The people of Assisi
had heard what he had done, and they decided he must have gone mad. So
when he appeared in the city the boys began throwing stones and rubbish
at him, and calling after him. Francis bore it all patiently, and felt
rather a hero. But presently Peter Bernardone discovered that his son
was being insulted in the streets. It filled him with rage, and he
rushed out, dragged Francis indoors, gave him a good flogging and shut
him up in a little cell. Here he had to stay for some time, until his
father went on another journey and his mother let h