his ways. Why, when we went to take him from his place he fairly flew to our arms. I know what that means. You will get well, for he wanted to come to you. Sometimes he is so heavy that we can hardly carry him a mile an hour—and I have known him to refuse to be moved at all."
The old pallikari was right. St George did cure me. In a few months I was stronger than I had ever been in my life. It was then that my mother—partly out of gratitude, partly in order that he might continue to look after me—resolved to sell me to St George.
For three days she and I fasted. Early on the morning of the fourth day we started, barefooted, for the mountains and St George's monastery, carrying wax torches nearly as tall as I. At first I was ashamed to meet people in my bare feet, until I noticed with elation that they all reverently uncovered their heads as we passed.
It was a long, weary walk. Up the mountains it seemed as if we were climbing for heaven. The road zigzagged steeply upward, now revealing, now hiding the monastery from our eyes. At last we reached the huge rocks that surrounded it like a rampart.
Everything was ready for our arrival. The Hegoumenos, the head monk, received us. I was taken to a little shrine, bathed in holy water, and put to bed, after receiving some soupe-maigre;
