up and defend the Christian Faith against heretics.

Fernando had gone to another great monastery at Coimbra, and had been
there eight years, when something happened which was the beginning of a
great change in his life--the beginning of a great adventure.

One day five dusty wayfarers tramped into the town and stopped at the
little house of the Franciscans, not far from the monastery of the White
Canons. The five strangers were really five heroes, for they were five
of St. Francis's Friars, bound on a quest so thrilling and so dangerous
that they felt quite sure they would never come back. They were going to
Morocco, in Africa, to preach to the heathen, and with shining eyes they
spoke of dying there, for the love of Christ, and winning the martyr's
crown! Full of joy they went on their way; but without knowing it they
had set on fire the heart of the young Canon, Fernando. In the quiet of
his peaceful monastery he could think of nothing but Africa, the
heathen, the chance of sharing Christ's suffering, and dying for His
sake. It was really the Holy Spirit Who was stirring up those thoughts
in Fernando's heart.

Well, some months later news came that the five brave Friars had been
put to a most horrible death by the Saracens. They were first scourged
till the whiplashes had almost cut their bodies to pieces. Boiling oil
and vinegar was then poured over them, and they were rolled on the
ground, over fragments of broken glass and pottery. They were then
promised their lives if they would give up Christ; but as, of course,
they wouldn't, they were beheaded. These were the first martyrs of St.
Francis's Order.

Can you imagine what Fernando felt when one day a solemn procession
stopped outside the church of his own monastery, and the coffins
containing the bodies of the martyrs were laid within it for a while on
their way to Spain?

Fernando now felt more sure than ever that God was calling him to be a
poor Friar, and to set out barefoot for some hot, dusty land away
beyond the seas, where cruel hands would torture him to death. Once
again he offered himself to God, but this time it took an even harder
struggle than it had before, for he loved his quiet life of prayer and
study in the beautiful monastery even more than he had loved the gay
life of his boyhood. Still, he did not _give in to himself_.

Next time the poor Friars came, in their old, patched habits, to beg at
the rich monastery, can you imagine their surp