d, was to go twelve times in
pilgrimage to the tomb of St. Peter and St. Paul at Rome. Years and
years after, when this robber was an old, old man, he met a Friar on the
road, and he told him how when he was young he had heard St. Antony
preach, and how he had told him to go to Rome twelve times. "And now I
am on my way back from Rome for the twelfth time," he said. That shows
you what power St. Antony had.

There's no time now to tell you of all the miracles he did; but they
were so wonderful that he came to be called the "Wonder-worker," and it
showed everyone that God was with him.

And do you think all this honour and glory, and big crowds running after
him, and great men praising him, made St. Antony proud or even the least
bit pleased with himself? No; he stayed just as humble and retiring as
he was in the days when he used to wash dishes in the mountain friary.

But St. Antony's hard life was beginning to tell on his health. For a
long time he had secretly suffered from a very painful disease. It was
now about nine years since the day he preached his first sermon and was
sent forth by St. Francis on his great mission. As the summer drew on
St. Antony ceased to preach, so as not to hinder the people's work in
the vineyards. Also, he knew the end of his life was near. He longed for
a little peace and solitude and silence; he longed to be alone with God
to prepare for his great journey into the next world.

There was a nobleman called Count Tiso, who had a beautiful estate not
far from Padua, a city St. Antony loved very much. Here St. Antony went
for a time of rest. There was no rocky hill-side to make a cave which he
might use as his cell, so he got Count Tiso to make him a cell in the
great branches of a walnut-tree. These branches spread out not far above
the ground, and between them Count Tiso wove reeds and willow twigs, and
made a lovely little house for St. Antony. The thick, leafy branches
above sheltered him from the hot sun; a few rough steps led up to it;
and here St. Antony could spend his days in complete solitude.

But one evening when he had come down to have his evening meal with his
companions, in the little friary near by, he was taken very ill, and his
pain was so great that he could no longer sit upright.

He knew he was soon to die, and he longed to die at his beloved city,
Padua. He was really much too ill to be moved, but when his companions
saw how much he wanted this, they fetched a ro