Never did Francis regret his renunciation, but ever did the thought of it fill him with gratitude and joy. One day, some years after his disinheritance, the Saint and one of his disciples, Brother Masseo, were eating a scanty meal of broken bread, begged by the way; they ate near a fountain, and a large stone was their table. “O Brother Masseo,” said Francis, his soul bubbling with joy, “we are not worthy of so great a treasure;” and he repeated these words several times. Brother Masseo answered: “Father, how canst thou talk of a treasure where there is so much poverty and indeed a lack of all things? for we have neither cloth, nor knife nor dish, nor table, nor house; neither have we servant nor maid to wait upon us.” Then said the Saint: “And this is the very reason why I look upon it as a great treasure, because man has no hand in it, but all has been given us by Divine Providence, as we clearly see in this bread of charity, in this beautiful table of stone, and in this clear fountain.”[31] Surely here we find the very apotheosis of poverty; of the poverty which, discarding the artificial, is happy in the simple realities and in the bounties of nature, and feels no barrier between itself and the spiritual possession of the very earth itself. Here it may be as well to take note how alien is the poverty of Francis from the vulgarity and squalor, the idleness and discontent, which mark too frequently the life of the poor. No greater misconception of Franciscan poverty could there be than to conceive it as sanctioning or condoning any condition that detracts from the proper native dignity of man. The “Lady Poverty” of Francis went with bare and bruised feet, her garment was coarse, and she ate but the bread of the peasant; but she retained her native dignity of soul, and bore herself as a Queen wherever she went. She delighted in the pure air, and the flowers, and the running stream, was honest and self-revering, simple and joyous.