He obediently rose and went back to Assisi.  He tried to join again in the old revels, but the joy was gone.  He went quietly away to a cave on the mountain side and there he lay—­as young Mahomet had done, you remember, five centuries before, to wonder what he was to do.

Then a vision came to him.  All at once like a flash his mind was clear, and his soul was full of joy.  He saw the love of Jesus Christ—­Who had lived and suffered and died for love of him and of all men;—­that love was to rule his own life!  He had found his Captain—­the Master of his life, the Lord of his service,—­Christ.

Yet even now he hardly knew what to do.  He went home and told his friends as well as he could of the change in his heart.

Some smiled rather pityingly and went away saying to one another:  “Poor fellow; a little mad, you can see; very sad for his parents!”

Others simply laughed and mocked.

One day, very lonely and sad at heart, he clambered up the mountain side to an old church just falling into ruin near which, in a cavern, lived a priest.  He went into the ruin and fell on his knees.

“Francis,” a voice in his soul seemed to say, “dost thou see my house going to ruin.  Buckle to and repair it.”

He dashed home, saddled his horse, loaded it with rich garments and rode off to another town to sell the goods.  He sold the horse too; trudged back up the hill and gave the fat purse to the priest.

“No,” said the priest, “I dare not take it unless your father says I may.”

But his father, who had got rumour of what was going on, came with a band of friends to drag Francis home.  Francis fled through the woods to a secret cave, where he lay hidden till at last he made up his mind to face all.  He came out and walked straight towards home.  Soon the townsmen of Assisi caught sight of him.

“A madman,” they yelled, throwing stones and sticks at him.  All the boys of Assisi came out and hooted and threw pebbles.

His father heard the riot and rushed out to join in the fun.  Imagine his horror when he found that it was his own son.  He yelled with rage, dashed at him and, clutching him by the robe, dragged him along, beating and cursing him.  When he got him home he locked him up.  But some days later Francis’ mother let him out, when his father was absent; and Francis climbed the hill to the Church.

The bishop called in Francis and his father to his court to settle the quarrel.

“You must give back to your father all that you have,” said he.

“I will,” replied Francis.

He took off all his rich garments; and, clad only in a hair-vest, he put the clothes and the purse of money at his father’s feet.

“Now,” he cried, “I have but one father.  Henceforth I can say in all truth ‘Our Father Who art in heaven.’”

A peasant’s cloak was given to Francis.  He went thus, without home or any money, a wanderer.  He went to a monastery and slaved in the kitchen.  A friend gave him a tunic, some shoes, and a stick.  He went out wandering in Italy again.  He loved everybody; he owned nothing; he wanted everyone to know the love of Jesus as he knew and enjoyed that love.