fond,--a black-eyed fellow who ate his breakfast out
of the Saint's hand. And when the master chanted the Psalms the little
chorister would perch on Servan's shoulder and flap his wings,
twittering as if he were trying to join in the songs of praise.

Now one morning when the coast was clear, the boys killed the little
Redbreast and pulled off his head. And then the biggest boy of them all
took the dead bird in his hand, and followed by all the rest ran
screaming to Saint Servan himself, pretending to feel very sorry.

"Oh Father!" cried the Big Boy, "just see what the wicked Kentigern has
done! Look at your Robin whom Kentigern has killed!"

Then they all began to cry out against Kentigern, and some even
declared that they had seen him do the wicked deed; which was a horrid
story, and their tongues must have smarted well as they spoke it.

Of course Saint Servan was very sad and angry. He tenderly took the
little limp body in his hand and went to seek Kentigern, the other boys
tiptoeing after him to see the fun. And by and by they came upon him in
a window bending over a big book which he was studying. Saint Servan
strode up to him and laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

"Look at this, boy," he cried with a sad voice, "look at this cruel
deed, and tell me what shall be done to punish the slayer? Did I not
love the Robin, even as I loved you, ungrateful boy!"

Kentigern turned quite pale with surprise and sorrow, and the tears came
into his eyes.

"Oh, the dear little bird," he said. "Did I not love him too? Who has
killed him, Father?"

"You did, you did; we saw you!" cried all the boys in a chorus.

Kentigern turned and looked at them in astonishment. He did not say a
word, but his cheeks grew red and his eyes flashed. This was more than
even his patience could stand.

"Well, what have you to say for yourself?" queried Saint Servan sternly.
Kentigern turned to him sadly.

"Oh Father!" he said, "how can you believe that I would do such a cruel
thing, to hurt the bird and to make you sad? I did not do it, Father."

"Can you prove it?" asked Saint Servan still more sternly, for he
thought the boy was telling a falsehood to hide his guilt.

"Give me the Robin, Father," said Kentigern, holding out his hand. "I
will prove that it was not this hand which cowardly used so small a
thing as a tiny bird." Then holding the limp body in one hand and the
downy head in the other, he stood before them all, looking up