"My name is not 'fellow,' but Hermas," said the anchorite, and the veins of his forehead began to swell Polykarp felt that his father's visitor was something more than his poor clothing would seem to indicate and that he had hurt his feelings. He had certainly seen some old anchorites, who led a contemplative and penitential life up on the sacred mountain, but it had never occurred to him that a strong youth could be long to the brotherhood of hermits. So he said to him kindly: "Hermas--is that your name? We all use our hands here and labor is no disgrace; what is your handicraft?" This question roused the young anchorite to the highest excitement, and Dame Dorothea, who perceives what was passing in his mind, said with quick decision: "He nurses his sick father. That is what you do, my son is it not? Petrus will not refuse you his help." "Certainly not," the senator added, "I will accompany you by-and-bye to see him. You must know my children, that this youth's father was a great Lord, who gave up rich possessions in order to forget the world, where he had gone through bitter experiences, and to serve God in his own way, which we ought to respect though it is not our own. Sit down there, my son. First we must finish some important business, and then I will go with you." "We live high up on the mountain," stammered Hermas. "Then the air will be all the purer," replied the senator. "But stay-- perhaps the old man is alone no? The good Paulus, you say, is with him? Then he is in good hands, and you may wait." For a moment Petrus stood considering, then he beckoned to his sons, and said, "Antonius, go at once and see about some slaves--you, Polykarp, find some strong beasts of burden. You are generally rather easy with your money, and in this case it is worth while to buy the dearest. The sooner you return well supplied the better. Action must not halt behind decision, but follow it quickly and sharply, as the sound follows the blow. You, Marthana, mix some of the brown fever-potion, and prepare some bandages; you have the key." "I will help her," cried Sirona, who was glad to prove herself useful, and who was sincerely sorry for the sick old hermit; besides, Hermas seemed to her like a discovery of her own, for whom she involuntarily felt more consideration since she had learned that he was the son of a man of rank. While the young women were busy at the medicine-cupboard, Antonius and Polykarp left the room. The latter had already crossed the threshold, when he turned once more, and cast a long look at Sirona. Then, with a hasty movement, he went on, closed the door, and with a heavy sigh descended the stairs. As soon as his sons were gone, Petrus turned to the steward again. "What is wrong with the slave Anubis?" he asked. "He is--wounded, hurt," answered Jethro, "and for the next few days will be useless. The goat-girl Miriam--the wild cat--cut his forehead with her reaping hook."