them to the priest of St. Damian, who, fearing the father’s displeasure, refused to accept the stolen funds.  The young zealot, “who had utter contempt for money,” threw the gold on one of the windows of the church.  Such is the story as gleaned from Catholic sources.  The heretics, who have criticised Francis for this conduct, are answered by the following ingenious but dangerous sophistry:  “It is certainly quite contrary to the ordinary law of justice for one man to take for himself the property of another; but if Almighty God, to whom all things belong, and for whom we are only stewards, is pleased to dispense with this His own law in a particular case, and to bestow what He has hitherto given to one upon another, He confers at the same time a valid title to the gift, and it is no robbery in him who has received it to act upon that title.”

Fearing his father’s wrath, Francis hid himself in the priest’s room, and contemporary authors assure us that when the irate parent entered, Francis was miraculously let into the wall.  Wading (1731 A.D.) says the hollow place may still be seen in the wall.

After a month, the young hero, confident of his courage to face his father, came forth pale and weak, only to be stoned as a madman by the people.  His father locked him up in the house, but the tenderer compassion of his mother released him from his bonds, and he found refuge with the priest.  When his father demanded his return, Francis tore off his clothes and, as he flung the last rag at the feet of his astounded parent, he exclaimed:  “Peter Bernardone was my father; I have but one father, He that is in Heaven.”  The crowd was deeply moved, especially when they saw before them the hair shirt which Francis had secretly worn under his garments.  Gathering up all that was left to him of his son, the father sadly departed, leaving the young enthusiast to fight his own way through the world.  Many times after that, the parents, who tenderly watched over the lad in sickness and prayed for his recovery, saw their beloved son leading his barefooted beggars through the streets of his native town.  But he will never more sing his gay songs underneath their roof or sally forth with his merry companions in search of pleasure.  Francis was given a laborer’s cloak, upon which he made the sign of a cross with some mortar, “thus manifesting what he wished to be, a half-naked poor one, and a crucified man.”  Such was the saint, in 1206, in his twenty-fifth year.

Francis now went forth, singing sacred songs, begging his food, and helping the sick and the poor.  He was employed “in the vilest affairs of the scullery” in a neighboring monastery.  At this time he clothed himself in the monk’s dress, a short tunic, a leathern girdle, shoes and a staff.  He waited upon lepers and kissed their disgusting ulcers.  Yet more, he instantly cured a dreadfully cancerous face by kissing it.  He ate the most revolting messes, reproaching himself for recoiling in nausea.  Thus the pauper of Jesus Christ conquered his pride and luxurious tastes.