Fra Paolo was not speaking from the pulpit; he stood beside a table that had been placed in the nave, and the people gathered close about him, as children near a father, while he opened a great vellum-bound volume with massive golden clasps, which his secretary had brought from the library of the Servi.

“Come nearer,” he called to them simply, beckoning with his hand, “so that all may hear; put the old people and the little ones nearest.”

He looked around him, not smiling, but very quiet and patient, as if he were waiting for the slight confusion to subside; for at first they pushed each other rudely to get closer.

“There is room for all,” he said, “in God’s house;” and as he looked into their faces each felt that it was a word to him, and held his breath to listen—­which suddenly seemed quite easy!  The smaller children nestled contentedly on their mothers’ arms, munching some dainty brought to keep them quiet, and fascinated by the low, clear voice, watched with round, solemn eyes to see if he would smile; while two or three who were tall enough to reach just over the edge of the table steadied themselves by clutching it with their chubby hands, dropping their hold of their mothers’ mantles—­for the pages were full of pretty colors, and the voice of the padre was like a lullaby to keep them still, and they were not afraid—­at all.

Fra Paolo never gave the people many words, but sometimes they were strong and beautiful, like an old poem, and in their own Venetian—­not in the Latin which had been made for the great ones.

“It was a wonderful book, written long ago,” he told them; “before the Bishop of Altinum fled with his people to Torcello and built the old Duomo; before Venice began to be.”

Many of them did not know there was anything so old as that!  They looked at each other and began to think.

“And it was written for the comfort of every one who loveth God, our Father, whatever his troubles may be.  See what is written here for any who fear that the consolations of our holy religion shall be taken away.  For that is what you fear?”

They looked at each other, hesitating.  “Si, si—­yes—­” timidly.  “No, no,” more bravely.

Fra Paolo smiled.

“No!” they said, distinctly.

“If any of you are afraid,” Fra Paolo said, looking full into their faces as they pressed nearer, “because the fathers of this church have gone away and left you, there are words in this old book—­written long ago, before there was any Venice—­to condemn those who would close the churches.  ’Woe be unto the pastors that destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture,’ saith the Lord.  ’Behold, I will visit upon them the evil of their doings, saith the Lord.’  ’Where is the flock that was given thee, thy beautiful flock?’”

“And here are some words that are written for you—­whom they have deserted.  ’Thus saith the Lord:  again there shall be heard in this place, which ye say shall be desolate, the voice of joy and the voice of gladness; the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride; and of them that shall bring the sacrifice of praise into the house of the Lord.’  It is all very simple.  Love God and pray to him, and be faithful in your duty.  And he will keep you happy and safe from harm.”