all sleep soundly in the hay," said he kindly, "though it be
against the law. I will risk even the bear and the wolf for the sake
of that you wear about your neck. But the stable and the company of
beasts are not fit for the like of you. That I know, though you be in
rags. Come into the house, young stranger."

"Have you forgotten," said John gently, "how once a stable sheltered
the greatest King of all among the humblest beasts? I have often had
worse beds than a pile of sweet straw. I shall be happy enough among
my friends."

The man hung his head for a moment, then raised it and looked at John
strangely.

"I _had_ forgotten," he said. "Who are you? Who are you who talk so
wisely, and who wear that silver Cross upon you?"

"I am John, the Hermit's pupil, and I am very tired," was the answer.
"May we not rest now? To-morrow perhaps we will show you some pretty
tricks to pay for our night's lodging."

"_John_," mused the man, "that is a good name! I want no pay from any
one who bears that name." And still eyeing John strangely, he led the
way to the stable door.

He bade them good-night; and thereupon the straw the two-footed and
four-footed pilgrims rested peacefully together, nestled in a warm mass
of fur and feathers, flaxen hair, and woolen rags.

In the morning the farmer brought them food, and his family came with
him to see the strange visitors. For so many animals had never before
been seen together in that country. John put Bruin and Brutus through
their tricks, and the children clapped their hands joyously at the
sight. Then John himself tumbled and danced for them, and they were in
an ecstasy.

At the end of the performance they clung about the boy's neck and flung
themselves upon the animals, declaring that they must not go away, and
begging them to stay forever.

But John shook his head, smiling. "I must be off," he said. "I must
do the King's errand."

And so they went upon their way, the children watching them wistfully
out of sight. But the farmer went with them some little distance to
point out the road; and when he left them he spoke a last word of
warning.

"The King has no love of animals," he said. "There are none in all the
kingdom save those for use and those he hunts to kill. There are no
pets nor playmates for the children; no birds even in his forests.
Beware his wrath, my lad, when he has word of your caravan."

"I am going to the King," said John simply. "W