Hardly had the Roman Empire become Christian before a quarrel arose between those Christians who believed one thing and those who believed another. The chief thing they quarreled about was whether Christ was equal to God the Father or not equal to Him. Constantine called the two disagreeing sides together at a place called Nicæa to settle the question. There the leaders of each side argued the matter hotly. Finally, it was decided that the Christian Church should believe that God the Son and God the Father were equal. Then they agreed to put what they believed in words. This was called a creed, which means “believe,” and because it was made at Nicæa it was known as the Nicene Creed, which many Christians still say every Sunday. Before the time of Constantine, there were no weekly holidays. Sunday was no different from any other day. People worked or did just the same things on Sunday as they did on other days. Constantine thought Christians should have one day a week for the worship of God--a “holy day,” or holiday, as we call it--so he made Sunday the Christian day of rest, a “holy day” such as Saturday was for the Jews. But although Constantine was head of the Roman Empire, there was another man whom all Christians throughout the world looked to as their spiritual head. This man was the Bishop of Rome. In Latin he was called “papa,” which means the same thing in Latin that it does in English, “father.” So the bishop of Rome was called “papa,” and this became “pope.” St Peter was supposed to have been the first Bishop of Rome. For many centuries the pope was the spiritual ruler of all Christians everywhere, no matter in what country they lived. As now you know what the name of this story means I’m putting it here: In Hoc Signo Vinces 39 Our Tough Ancestors But Rome with the Roman Empire had had her day. She had risen as high as she could. It was her turn to fall. She had become as large as she ever was to be. It was her turn to be conquered. But you cannot guess what people were to do the conquering and to be next in power. When I was a boy there was a gang of toughs who lived down by the gas-house and railroad tracks. They were ragged, unwashed, unschooled, but terrible fighters. Their leader was known to us as Mug Mike, and the very mention of him and his gang struck terror to our souls. Every now and then they paid our neighborhood a visit. Once we had offered fight, but with such terrible results that ever after at word of their approach the alarm would be sounded and we would hide indoors.