"Lo," said Cuthbert, "this was an angel of God who came to feed and not to be fed. These are such loaves as the earth cannot produce, for they surpass lilies in whiteness, roses in smell, and honey in flavor." By all human beings and creatures was Cuthbert beloved. He usually spent the greater part of the night in prayer. One night one of the brothers of the monastery followed him to find out where he went when he left the monastery. St. Cuthbert went out to the shore and entered the cold water of the sea till it was up to his arms and neck. And there in praises, with the sound of the waves in his ears, he spent the night. When dawn was drawing near he came out of the water and finished his prayer upon the shore. While he was doing this two seals came from out of the depths of the sea, warmed his feet with their breath and dried them with their hair. And when Cuthbert's feet were warm and dry he stood up and blessed the seals and sent them back into the sea, wherein these humble creatures swam about praising God. VI THE BOY WHO WON A PRIZE You know what sort of stories Bede was fond of telling--of course in Latin. If you should be asked with whom English prose began, I think it would be safe to say, "With Bede, who wrote the life of St. Cuthbert and the Ecclesiastical History." But that is not why you should say that Bede began English prose, but because at his death he was busy finishing a book written in English and called _Translation of the Gospel of St. John_. When his last day came the good old man called all his scholars about him. "There is still a chapter wanting," said the youth who always took down all of Bede's dictation, "and it is hard for thee to question thyself longer." "It is easily done," answered Bede; "take thy pen and write quickly." And all day long they wrote. When twilight came the boy cried out, "There is still one sentence unwritten, dear master." "Write it quickly," answered the master. "It is finished now," said the boy. "Thou sayest truth," came the answer, "all is finished now." Singing the praise of God, his scholars and the boy scribe about him, he died. Alas that this English book that he bravely finished has been lost! Bede was born about 673 and lived most of his life in the monastery at Jarrow in Northumbria in the north of England. With Bede's death the home of English prose literature was changed from the north to the south, from Northumbria to Wessex, where there lived a noble boy called Alfred. Asser, the man who was his secretary after the boy grew up, has written a life of Alfred. * * * * *