But St. John had no thunder tones for him, no threats of coming punishment.  The kind shepherd had found the sheep that had been lost.  The father had found the prodigal, without waiting for the wanderer’s return.  John sprang toward him.  He held out his arms in an affectionate manner.  He called him by tender names.  With earnest entreaty he prevailed on him to stop and listen.  As young Saul, when near Damascus caught sight of Jesus and heard His voice, dropped from his horse to the ground; so did the young chieftain at the sight and voice of St. John.  With reverence he kneeled before him, and in shame bowed his head to the ground.  Like Peter who had denied the same Lord, the young man wept bitterly.  His cries of self-reproach and his despair echoed strangely in that rocky defile.  As St. John had wept for him, he wept for himself.  Those were truly penitential tears.  John still spoke encouragingly.  The young man lifted his head and embraced the knees of the Apostle, sobbing out, “No hope, no pardon.”  Then remembering the deeds of his right hand, defiled with blood, he hid it beneath his robe.  St. John fell on his knees before him and enfolded him in his arms.  He grasped the hand that had been hidden, and bathed it in tears as if he would wash away its bloody stains, and then kissed it, in thought of the good he said it should yet perform.

That hand cast away the sword it had wielded in murder, and lovingly, gratefully held that of John, as the Apostle, and the robber-chief now penitent and forgiven, together left the wilderness; within sight of the astonished band; some of whom were greatly touched by what they had seen and heard, while others were ready to scoff at what they called the weakness of their leader.

Another tradition is a beautiful illustration of the tenderness and sympathy which we may judge was increasingly manifest in St. John’s character, the spirit of the Lord “whose tender mercies are over all His works,” the spirit St. John had seen in his Master who noticed the sparrow falling to the ground.  True it is,

    “He prayeth well who loveth well
     Both man, and bird, and beast. 
     He prayeth best who loveth best
       All things, both great and small;
     For the dear Lord who loveth us,
       He made and loveth all.”

There was a young tame partridge in which St. John took delight and found recreation in many an hour from which he had turned from labor for rest.  A young hunter anxiously seeking the great Apostle was surprised to find him in what seemed a frivolous employment.  He doubted for a moment whether this could be he.  John asked, “What is that thing which thou carriest in thy hand?” “A bow,” replied the hunter.  “Why then is it unstrung?” said John.  “Because,” was the answer, “were I to keep it always strung it would lose its spring and become useless.”  “Even so,” replied the Apostle, “be not offended at my brief relaxation, which prevents my spirit from waxing faint.”