"He was a brave lad," repeated the peddler. "It should be told oftener how he served one of the chiefs for six long years, and served him well. He set a good example to the flighty gossoons nowadays that can't stick to one thing for as long as a month at a time." "Danny has worked for Farmer Flynn ten years," said Mary Ellen, fearing the peddler might think her brother a "flighty gossoon." "Father Burke said that St. Patrick went all over Ireland, ringing his bell and preaching to the people," said Kathleen, beginning to remember some of the story. "So he did; he was a wonderful preacher," said Grandmother Barry, "and he was Bishop of all Ireland for many years." "Was that when Great-grandmother Connell was a little girl?" asked Mary Ellen, who thought her great-grandmother very old. "Whist, jewel; it was nearly fifteen hundred years ago that St. Patrick died," her father told her, "and your great-grandmother's only ninety." "Tell us the story of St. Patrick," begged Kathleen. "I'll remember it this time, for sure." "Well, now," the peddler began, "when Patrick was a lad of sixteen he was brought to Ireland and sold as a slave to one of the rich chiefs, who sent him to tend swine on the mountains. At first he was no doubt sad and lonely, but he bore his troubles bravely and thought often of the good Father in Heaven." Kathleen's father rose quickly, and going to a box in the corner of the room, he took out a book and brought it back to the fire. "This is what the good saint himself wrote about those lonely days in the mountains," he said, and turning the page he began to read slowly: "I was daily employed tending flocks; and I prayed frequently during the day, and the love of God was more and more enkindled in my heart, my fear and faith were increased, and my spirit was stirred; so much so that in a single day I poured out my prayers a hundred times and nearly as often in the night. Nay, even in the woods and mountains I remained, and rose before the dawn to my prayer, in frost and snow and rain; neither did I suffer any injury from it; for the spirit of the Lord was fervent within me." "He was a good lad," said Grandmother Barry, wiping a tear from her wrinkled cheek, and taking up her knitting again. "That he was, praise be to him," the peddler agreed. "He tended the swine for six years, and then he escaped and made his way back to his home in Scotland; but he could not forget the Irish people and he longed to go back and teach them to be Christians. He studied for many years in France and other countries, but all the time his thoughts turned back to Ireland and he had dreams and visions about it.