ild for our salvation.

The joy and gaiety of St. Francis were of two kinds. There was the joy
of love, and there was the joy of suffering for love. And of this last
he spoke a wonderful rhapsody as he journeyed once with Brother Leo, in
the grievous cold of the early spring, from Perugia to St. Mary of the
Angels. For, as Brother Leo was walking on before, St. Francis called
aloud to him:--

"O Brother Leo, although throughout the world the Lesser Brethren were
mirrors of holiness and edification, nevertheless write it down, and
give good heed to it, that not therein is perfect joy."

And again, a little further on, he called aloud:

"O Brother Leo, though the Lesser Brother should give the blind sight,
and make the misshapen straight, and cast out devils, and give hearing
to the deaf, and make the lame to walk and the dumb to speak; yea,
should he even raise the four days' dead to life, write it down that
not herein is perfect joy."

And yet a little further on he cried out:

"O Brother Leo, if the Lesser Brother should know all languages, and
every science, and all the Scriptures, so that he could foretell not
solely the hidden things of the future but also the secrets of the
heart, write down that not therein is perfect joy."

A little further yet, and once again he cried aloud:

"O Brother Leo, God's little sheep, though the Lesser Brother were to
speak with the tongue of the Angels, and know the courses of the stars
and the virtues of herbs, and though the treasures of the earth were
discovered to him, and he had craft and knowledge of birds and fishes
and of all living creatures, and of men, and of trees and stones, and
roots and waters, write it down that not therein is perfect joy."

And once more, having gone a little further, St. Francis called aloud:

"O Brother Leo, even though the Lesser Brother could by his preaching
convert all the unbelievers to the faith of Christ, write down that not
therein is perfect joy."

And when, after St. Francis had spoken in this manner for the space of
two miles, Brother Leo besought him to reveal wherein might perfect joy
be found, St. Francis answered him:

"When we are come, drenched with rain and benumbed with cold and
bespattered with mud and aching with hunger, to St. Mary of the Angels,
and knock at the door, and the porter asks wrathfully, 'Who are you?'
and on our answering, 'Two of your brethren are we,' 'Two gangrel
rogues,' says he, 'who go about