Part 9 (1/2)

”My son!” cried the Hermit, laying trembling hands on John's shoulder.

”It was meant for you. You would have died had you not stooped at that moment to caress the doe.”

”Poor doe!” said John, kneeling beside her and busying himself with the arrow. ”You have saved my life. Now we must save yours. My father, I think she is not badly hurt.”

And he began to stanch the blood and bind up the wound with the skill which the Hermit had taught him.

But the old man stood for a long time gazing into the forest after the party of huntsmen. ”A murderer and a coward,” he said. ”In sanctuary he has shed innocent blood. For many evil deeds the price will surely be paid. And the price is heavy.”

XVII

THE MESSENGER

The little deer was not greatly hurt by the cowardly hunter. John and the Hermit nursed her tenderly, and so great was their knowledge of healing balms that she was soon nibbling the gra.s.s about their dooryard, as sprightly as ever, save for a slight lameness in one leg.

Bruin was with them once more, a constant guest in the little circle.

The fright of that day when the hunters came to the forest had affected all the animals, who clung closely to their two human friends, and did not venture far from the hut.

Although John and the Hermit had never spoken together of the King since that terrible day, the boy thought often about him, and about the young Prince with whom he had wrestled for the life of the bear. And John was troubled by many things. He thought how great must be the suffering among the helpless animals when men so cruel were in power.

If animals were treated so, how must the poor and lowly people fare at the hands of their lords and masters? Were the mighty so cruel to one another,--to children and women and aged people? All these were weak and helpless, too. John remembered the Hermit's tales of war and the wickedness of cities, and his heart grew sick. What a terrible world this was to live in, if the great and powerful were so bad!

But when John was most unhappy, longing to change it all, he would look around the little hut where, surrounded by his animal friends, the dear old Hermit sat under the wooden Cross, reading out of the great book.

Then John grew happy once more. For the Hermit had taught him well from that holy volume.

”It will all come right some time,” he said to himself. ”Some day the Lord will teach men better, and all will be peace and love as it is here. But oh! If only I were big and strong and powerful, so that I could help to hasten that happy day!”

One evening, several weeks later, they sat as usual in the midst of their circle of pets. The Hermit, with the raven on his shoulder and the cat on his knee, was reading from the book. John, on a bench by the window, was using the last light of an autumn day to make a basket for gathering herbs. The gaunt wolf lay at his feet. Beside him rested the bear, snuffling in his sleep; and stretched out between him and the Hermit, Brutus snored peacefully. On John's shoulders roosted their carrier pigeon, and several kittens played about his legs. The deer lay on a pallet in the corner. It was a very peaceful scene, and every one seemed to have forgotten the fright of a month before.

Suddenly John said: ”Father, tell me about the King.”

The old man started, and placing a finger in the book to mark the place, looked at John with surprise. ”Why should we speak of him?” he asked uneasily. ”This is the hour of peace and meditation on pleasant things.”

”I have thought about him so much,” said John. ”I cannot tell why, but I am unable to forget him. I want to know more of him and of his son.”

The old man shook his head. ”I am sorry,” he said. ”Did you care so much for his gorgeous clothes and jewels, his horse and band of followers? Have they turned your head, foolish boy? Did you find anything to admire in their talk and manner and looks? I am disappointed, John!”

”Nay, I did not admire anything about them,” John hastened to say. ”I saw that the King was cruel. I believe well that he was also wicked.

But he seemed to have friends. How can a bad man have friends? And why do the people allow him to be their king?”

”Ah, John!” cried the Hermit, ”it is not so easy to find a good king!

Perhaps his people do not care; perhaps they know no better. Perhaps he is so powerful that they have no choice but to obey him.”

”Is the King so wicked?” asked John, wondering how the Hermit knew so much. ”What has he done that is bad?”

The old man hesitated; then he turned to John with a gesture that the boy did not understand.

”Listen, John,” he said. ”I will tell you some things that this King has done. It is well that you should know. Years ago, before you were born, he was not the lawful king in this Country. The true king was his brother Cyril, who was good and kind, ruling wisely and well. But suddenly he died. Those in his service guessed that his brother Robert, this present King, had caused his death by poison. So Robert became king. A stormy time he had of it, at first; for the whole land loved King Cyril. Many accused Robert, and refused to do him honor,--especially one holy man, John, King Cyril's friend and physician. Yes, my son, he bore the same blessed name as yourself.

This man the people loved dearly, for he was wise and generous with his wisdom. He healed them freely of their hurts. He went about the country doing good, bringing love and good cheer wherever he went. He was honored almost as a saint. But because he dared lift his voice against the King--he died. No one knew how it happened. At the same time his little son disappeared; men believed that he also was slain by the cruel King. The people were furious; they stormed and threatened.