Stories of the Saints by Candle-LightBarclay, Vera C. (Vera Charlesworth)
Religion
Stories of the Saints by Candle-Light
Barclay, Vera C. (Vera Charlesworth)
Camps -- Juvenile fiction; Christian saints -- Juvenile literature
This time the executioner told St. George that his last chance had come.
Either he must give up Christ, or he must face death. The words sent a
kind of thrill through St. George--a thrill of horror at the thought of
death, which turned into a thrill of joy at the thought of going into
the presence of Christ, and hearing His wonderful Voice again, only this
time seeing Him, too. And he rejoiced, also, to think he would really be
a _martyr_. So he whispered faintly--for he could hardly speak now--that
nothing in all the world would make him give up Christ.
So the soldiers took off his chains and dragged him up to his feet, and
he walked slowly, with weak, swaying steps, into the sun.
"Fear not." He said the words over to himself. No, he wouldn't fear! "I
am with thee." How wonderful! "And soon," he said in his heart, "_I_
shall be with _Thee_!" And so he knelt down and waited.
And the executioner's great axe flashed in the sun as he swung it aloft,
and the next instant the blood of "the Great Martyr" was streaming
across the white pavement, as St. George's Cross streams scarlet across
the white ground of his flag.
The soul of "the Great Martyr" had entered Heaven, where the angels
rejoiced at his coming, when the Christians picked up his poor, broken
body and carried it away. It was buried in a beautiful tomb, and before
long a great church had been built over it. On every hand people talked
of "the Great Martyr," and the Christians rejoiced at his courage, and
cheered each other on to resist bravely. Many of the heathen, seeing
that St. George could suffer tortures and die for his faith, began to
believe in the Christ he loved, and were baptized. Diocletian himself
began to fear a little, and the butchering stopped.
And so it was that the maiden in distress, the persecuted Church of
Christ, was saved by her brave knight, St. George.
GOOD-BYE
A grey morning, but quite fine. Some of the Cubs went off to bathe after
breakfast, others to do final shopping and buying of presents to take
home, while some stayed in the field to help with the packing. The tent
was struck and rolled up, swings and hammocks taken down, palliasses
emptied and done up in bales, and by twelve o'clock all was finished,
and the time came to change out of the comfy old camp clothes into full
uniform. How tight and hot boots and stockings seemed!
After dinner the Cubs gathered round into the council circle. Everyone
was feeling rather quiet. Akela had a short pow-wow, and then the Cubs
squatted and let off a mighty Grand Howl, as a "thank you" to everyone
concerned for the glorious time they had had, and as a sign that they
were going back to London meaning to _do their best_ as never before.
Then they fell in, two deep, and, with a last look at the field, marched
away.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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