Antony was called,
and yet think nothing of himself at all, and expect no one else to pay
him honour and respect. So much did St. Antony hate swank and love
humility that he let no one know what wonderful powers he had, until one
day God made an adventure happen which showed everybody what he really
was."

"Tell us--tell us," said the Cubs.

So Akela squatted down in the middle of the listening Cubs, and began.

THE STORY OF ST. ANTONY.

To understand the story of St. Antony you must picture yourselves in the
beautiful, sunny land of Portugal. Oranges and purple grapes and all
kinds of lovely fruits ripen in the old gardens. Galleys full of rich
merchandise come sailing across the blue, blue sea and touch at the port
of Lisbon. All along the banks of the River Tagus are the big houses of
the nobility. It is in one of these houses that there lives a boy called
Fernando.

Fernando is one of those boys who will always have a good time. He is
very clever and quick, handsome, and full of life. He gets on
wonderfully well at school, and he has a fine time in the holidays, for
his people lead a gay life--feasts, sports, the chase, grand parties of
every sort. Fernando has the chance of seeing a good deal of life, for
he is the kind of boy the grown-ups are always ready to take out. He
gets a lot of admiration, and he enjoys everything to the full.

But, do you know, when he is alone there is a certain idea that often
comes to him, and he sits on his window-sill and gazes away across the
purple hills, and thinks and thinks and thinks. The idea is this: that,
after all, this pleasure and gaiety is not worth much; it's all rather
selfish and greedy and stupid. There must be something more worth while
in life. For one thing, there's _God_. How little we know of God! And
yet there is a lot to be learnt and understood about Him if only there
was time and quiet and books, and not all this bustle of parties and
grand people. Surely God wants men to get to know Him, and not be so
busy pleasing themselves that they quite forget all about Him. Then,
again, how rotten it would be to die and feel you had _done_ nothing in
life but please yourself! After all, there's no end of things to be done
to make the world a better, holier, wiser place. Fancy going out of the
world knowing you were leaving it no better than when you came--or
perhaps a little worse. Surely a man must feel rather nervous about
dying, and about the Judgment Day