iced over this of his. Heaven, he said to himself, had smiled upon
his enterprise. God had undertaken to lead him by the hand, and to
what heights could he not aspire! Dreams of earthly honor and
distinction floated through his brain as he dressed, and when he went
downstairs everybody asked what made him look so radiant.

"I have the certainty of becoming a great prince," he answered.

Yes, truly, he was to be a prince among men! Could he have seen then
the rough road that God was preparing for him, would he have drawn
back? Happily for us, we live a day at a time, and further than that
our eyes are holden.

With a great deal of pomp and display, at the appointed time Francis
mounted his horse and set off. But his journey was a short one. About
thirty miles from Assisi he was taken ill with an attack of his
life-long enemy--the fever--and forced to lie by. He chafed a good
deal at this, and wondered and pondered over the mysterious actions
of a Providence which had so manifestly sanctioned his expedition.

[Sidenote: _The Master or the Servant?_]

One evening he was lying half unconscious when he thought he heard the
same voice that spoke to him before he started.

"Francis," it asked, "what could benefit thee most, the Master or the
servant, the rich man or the poor?"

"The Master and the rich man," answered Francis in wonderment.

"Why, then," went on the voice, "dost thou leave God, Who is the
Master and rich, for man, who is the servant and poor?"

"Then, Lord, what wilt Thou that I do?" queried Francis.

"Return to thy native town, and it shall be shown thee there what thou
shalt do," said the voice.

It was characteristic of all Francis' after life that he never stopped
to query what looked like contradiction of orders, but as soon as ever
he was well enough he travelled back home again. His ambition for
future greatness, and earthly distinction and honor, all seemed to be
lost sight of when the Divine voice spoke. For Francis was convinced
that God had spoken to him.

It was certainly not easy for a nature like his to return home whence
a few short days before, he had departed with such pomp and glory. His
father was not over rejoiced to welcome him back, but his friends, who
worshipped him, "the flower of Assisi," as they called him, received
him gladly. Things had been dull without Francis. His merry songs and
jests were missed at the evening feast. For a time he took up the life
he had quitted.