im out. Of course,
he went straight back to the little church on the hill-side, and here,
when his father came back, he found him. Peter Bernardone stormed at him
and demanded the money back, but Francis would not give it, saying he
had given it to God. So Peter Bernardone went to the Bishop about it.
The matter came up at the Bishop's Court, and the Bishop had to tell
Francis to give back the money. Bernardone was so angry with his son
that he then and there disinherited him, and said he would not own him
as his son any more. So Francis took off his very clothes and gave them
back to his father, saying, "Now will I say no more Peter Bernardone is
my father, but only 'Our Father Who art in heaven.'" So, taking the
bundle of clothes, old Bernardone stalked out of the Court.

Someone fetched Francis a rough habit, such as was worn by the
farm-hands. On this Francis chalked a big cross, and, putting it on,
stepped out joyfully, feeling that at last he was free to serve God, in
whatever way He wanted him to, and share the life of the poor.

He felt somehow that he must get right away, alone; so he started
walking up over the mountains, not caring where he went. Soon he was
right up among the pines, and as night fell he found it was pretty cold,
for the winter's snow still lay in the deep shade of the trees. But he
was so happy that he did not care for anything, and as he went he sang
aloud for joy.

Then, suddenly, out of the dark wood a band of robbers pounced on him.
"Who are you?" they cried. "I am the herald of the great King!" answered
Francis. So they stripped him of his habit, and threw him in a ditch
full of snow.

Luckily, the next day he found a friend in a town the other side of the
mountains, who gave him a pilgrim's cloak, a pair of shoes, and a staff.
Then, after a bit more wandering, St. Francis returned to the little
church and settled down with the old priest, meaning now in good earnest
to build up the church.

Since he had no money to buy what was needed, the only thing was to beg.
So he went out in the streets begging for stones to build up the little
church. The poor people were very kind, and gave him stones, and some of
them came and helped, and soon they and Francis together had begun
rebuilding the walls. Every day Francis went begging, and sometimes it
was very hard not to _give in to himself_ and go skulking down a
side-street when he saw a group of his old friends ahead. But he went
bravely