"Exactly as little as you, my Clava," answered Michael; "six years old only, and His mother took care of Him, just like your mother; and, oh, He made her so happy, for He was never naughty! Well, whenever we are tempted, we must try to think what He would have done in our place. Remember our Lord Jesus died a martyr, and we must be ready to follow Him. It is not grown-up people only who are martyrs!" CHAPTER VII FATHER CYRIL AT that moment, whilst Michael was still speaking, the doorway of the hut was darkened by a man's figure standing between them and the green light of the forest. The children huddled into a corner, like frightened lambs; whilst Michael and Sergius stood out boldly in front of them. The hearts of both of the boys were filled with trouble and dismay. It was Father Cyril, the Batoushka, who had discovered their retreat. "Are you afraid of me, my children?" he asked in a gentle voice, as he sat down on one of the logs, and stretched out his arms towards the startled group. "Come to me, Velia; and little Clava, I have a sweetmeat for you. Come and sit on my knee. Shake hands with me, Michael and Sergius. I heard you singing some little time ago, and after some trouble, I found out where you were hidden." "Batoushka," said Michael, stammering and hesitating, "this old hut is a secret." "Not from me now," answered Father Cyril, "but don't be alarmed, my boys, I respect your fathers, and I will not betray you or your people." Michael stood aside, and pushed Velia and Clava towards the village priest. He took Clava on his knee, and put his arm round Velia; whilst the rest of the children drew near him, attracted by his kind and benign aspect. His pale, thoughtful face was that of a youngish man, though his uncut hair, parted in the middle, and hanging on his shoulders, and his long beard, gave him a venerable appearance. There was a half smile on his lips and in his eyes, in spite of the sadness with which he regarded this childish band of heretics, already eager for martyrdom. He knew better than they did the perils and sorrows drawing nearer every day. The resolute, manly bearing of Michael, the more timid yet firm manner of Sergius, the tender delicacy of Velia, and the clinging weakness of little Clava, appealed irresistibly to his pity. He felt as the Lord may have felt when they brought young children to Him for His blessing, if He foresaw that these little ones must pass through the fires of persecution. Father Cyril knew that these helpless children were doomed to swiftly coming sorrows; and his heart ached, and tears came into his eyes, as he laid his hand on Clava's head and gave her a silent benediction.