For Greater Things | Page 6

a stout staff in his hand, and with God's blessing upon him and His Eucharistic Presence in his heart, stepped out cheerfully on a journey that would stagger most men.
That is the stuff of which heroes are made. If Stanislaus had done this for the glory of the world, we should have his praises in our histories, we should have stories woven about him, the whole world would cry "Bravo!" But he did it for God, and the world cannot understand him at all: the world is silent.
An hour or so of that steady, tireless stride carried him well away from Vienna. He slipped off his velvet and silk, put on his coarse tunic - a shirt-like garment that came below his knees - girded himself with a bit of rope, tied his stout shoes on his feet, and took the road again. There were folk aplenty journeying from the countryside to Vienna in the early morning. Stanislaus picked out one of the poorest-looking peasants and handed him the gala dress he had just taken off.
"I can't carry these with me, friend," he said. "Won't you please take them? I have no use for them, and perhaps you can sell them in the city."
And he was gone before the peasant, gaping in wonder at the rich garments and dagger in his hands, could much more than catch a glimpse of that bright face and those laughing eyes.
He tramped all day, and made his thirty miles. When he was hungry, he asked some one he met for food. It is not likely that any one would refuse the smiling, handsome boy, from whose face innocence simply shone. But if any one had refused him, it would not have annoyed Stanislaus. His good humor came from heaven, as well as from his own cheery soul - and you cannot rebuff that kind of good humor.
Night came down at last, and he was tired out. He came to an inn and asked for shelter.
"I have no money," he told the landlord, smiling, "and I have no claim upon you. Will you take me in?"
The landlord looked at him shrewdly a little, then said with respect:
"But what is your grace doing in such a garb?"
Stanislaus thought for a moment that he was recognized; but he put on a bold front, and laughed as he said:
"I am not 'your grace. I am what you see me, and I have a long journey to make."
In those days it was not unusual for even nobles to go, roughly clad, upon pilgrimages of devotion. That Stanislaus was a noble, the landlord was quite certain. That he might be engaged on some such pious business, was possible. But who ever heard of a mere boy going upon pilgrimage?
The whole affair puzzled the landlord more than a little. However, the face of the boy reassured him. At least there could be no evil behind that frank, brave countenance. So he shook his head, saying:
"I do not understand. But come in. You are welcome."
He gave Stanislaus his supper and a bed to sleep in.
"You shall not be the poorer for this," said Stanislaus, as he thanked him. "You know God makes it up to us for even a cup of cold water given in His name."
And as the boy spoke, the landlord saw his face glow when he spoke of God and he was very glad at heart that he had given shelter and food, to this strange boy.
Stanislaus slept soundly. But he was up with the sun, washed and dressed quickly, and went to thank his host again before setting out.
"But you will have something to eat before you go?" cried the man, as Stanislaus stood before him, staff in hand, ready for the road.
"It is good of you to offer it," the boy answered. "But perhaps I shall find a church before long, and I must go fasting to Holy Communion."
Then the landlord marvelled again, for at that period even good people did not go very often to Holy Communion, especially when they were traveling hard, as Stanislaus evidently was. And his admiration and liking grew for this boy with the merry face and the heart so near heaven.
"At least," he said, "you must take something with you for the way."
And that Stanislaus did not refuse, but accepted gratefully, and so parted from the kind landlord, leaving him gazing in the doorway with wonder in his eyes.
His legs were a bit stiff and sore this second day. But the first few miles wore that off, and he swung on his way as bravely and gayly as before.
CHAPTER II
THE PURSUIT Meanwhile, there was a hubbub in Vienna. Stanislaus had lived in that city about three years with his brother Paul, who was about a year older than he, and in