No kind parents or friends were near, to bid good-bye to these poor children as they embarked. They were led on board and given into the charge of the captain and seamen of the vessel. Presently the sails were unfurled, and the vessel left the shore, the men singing as they worked. No one paid any attention to the poor children as they stood on deck and sorrowfully watched the shores of England grow farther and farther away, until they became lost in the distance. The little captives felt very sad indeed. Had they known that they were about to become the means of bringing happiness and peace to their native land, perhaps they might not have felt so desolate as they did. After what seemed to them a very long voyage, they were taken to the great slave-market in Rome. The children clung together in confusion and fear as they looked around at the bewildering scene. Groups of buyers and sellers were there, talking in an unknown language. There were many other slaves for sale; men, women, and children; white, black, and brown; brought together from many parts of the world. People in strange bright dresses were always passing; some coming to buy slaves, some to meet their friends, and others out of mere curiosity. In all the careless, chattering crowd there was not one face that seemed friendly towards the poor strangers from across the sea. Presently the boys remarked among the gay throng an old man who seemed quite different from the rest. He wore a plain dark gown, with sandals on his feet. A long silvery beard flowed nearly to his girdle; and the boys liked his face, with its kind, benevolent expression. This was the monk Gregory, who was loved by all the people of Rome for his simple goodness of heart. As the old man passed through the hall he looked pityingly at the poor people who were waiting to be sold. When he came to the English boys he paused, struck by their beautiful rosy faces, fair hair, and rounded limbs. 'Who are these children?' he asked the trader who was standing beside them. 'They are Angles,' replied the trader. 'Surely not Angles, but angels,' said Gregory; 'for they have the faces of angels.' He looked at them again very thoughtfully, and asked the trader whether these children were Christians. 'No, sir,' replied the merchant; 'the Angles are heathens, and have a very cruel religion.' 'What a pity, what a pity!' said the good monk. 'What is the name of their country?' 'They come from a place called Deira,' said the trader. 'Ira' is the Latin word for wrath; and Gregory seemed to find a meaning in all the names connected with these angel-faced children. 'De ira,' he said; 'ay, from the wrath of God they shall be called to Christ's mercy.--And what is the name of their King?' he inquired. 'Ella,' replied the merchant.