generally succeeded sooner or later.

In places where the Friars were not known, Francis often found it a
little difficult to get permission to preach in the churches. At a
place called Imola, for instance, where he went to ask the bishop for
the use of the church, the bishop replied, coldly and distantly:--

"My brother, I preach in my own parish; I am not in need of anyone to
aid me in my task."

Francis bowed, and went out. An hour later, he presented himself
again.

"What have you come for again?" asked the bishop, angrily. "What do
you want?"

"My lord," answered Francis, in his simple way, "when a father turns
his son out of one door, the son has but one thing to do--to return by
another."

This holy boldness won the bishop's heart.

"You are right," he said. "You and your brothers may preach in my
diocese. I give you a general permission to do so. Your humility
deserves nothing less!"

Francis never considered himself at liberty to "shake the dust" of a
city off his feet unless he had tried and tried again and again, to
get a hearing there; indeed, nothing convinced him of the uselessness
of his quest unless he were thrown out neck and crop, then it was more
than likely he would gather himself up, and try another entrance! He
entirely forgot himself in his love for his Master.

His love of truth was with him almost a passion. Between his thoughts,
and his words, and his actions there was a perfect agreement, neither
one contradicted the other; he saw to it that it was so, knowing that
nothing hurt the Gospel of Christ like insincerity or double dealing.
Distractions in prayer he looked upon as secret lies, and saying with
the lips what the heart did not go with.

"How shameful," he used to say, "to allow oneself to fall into vain
distractions when one is addressing the great King! We should not
speak in that manner even to a respectable man!"

On one occasion he had carved a little olive-wood vase, probably
meaning to sell it for food. But, while at prayer one day, some
thought connected with this work came into his mind, distracting his
soul for the moment. Instantly he was full of contrition, and, as soon
as he left his prayer, hastened to put his vase into the fire, where
never again it could come between his soul and God!

One day, on meeting a friend on the road, they stopped to converse. On
parting, the friend said, "You will pray for me?" To which Francis
replied, "Willingly." Hardly was t