The

Legend of
St.
 SAINT JEROME

Saint Jerome was born in what is now called Yugoslavia,

probably around the year 342. His parents must have
been quite rich because he was given a very good educa-
tion and while he was a young man he travelled widely
in Europe, especially in Gaul, which is present day
France, and in Italy.
Everyone said that Jerome was very clever. He could
read and speak many languages, including both Hebrew
and Greek; and eventually he was given the important
position of secretary to the Pope. But he only kept this
post for a short time and then he left Rome in disgrace.
We are not sure what happened, but there may have
been a big quarrel. It seems likely because Jerome was a
peppery sort of man, with a quick temper and a sharp
sarcastic tongue. Though he did acknowledge his faults
quite freely, he certainly was a less than perfect saint.
Finally Jerome settled in Bethlehem where he
gathered a group of monks around him. There he
completed the great work for which he is most famous
— a translation of the Bible into Latin.
A similar story about a lion is told about another saint
called Gerasimus who was also an abbot of a monastery
in the Holy Land. Perhaps both saints had an encounter
with a lion, but it is probable that there is only one story
and that the two saints were confused because Jerome’s
name was sometimes written as Geronimus which is very
like Gerasimus.
Saint Jerome died in 420 and his day is September
30th.
 THE LION, THE DONKEY
AND SAINT JEROME

Perhaps you have seen a picture, some time or other,

of an old man sitting at a desk with a lion lying peacefully
at his feet. Well, that man was Saint Jerome, and this is
the story of how the lion came to be there.
In Bethlehem, one warm summer evening long ago,
some monks and their abbot, Jerome, were sitting
outside talking when all of a sudden a great big lion
stepped out from the shadows, only a few yards away.
The monks were terrified. They leapt to their feet,
hitched up their robes and they ran — how they ran! —
straight, flat out, towards the chapel. In they tumbled,
and slam!the door was shut and they were safe.
But Jerome remained outside. He sat and watched
as the mighty beast came to him, not with firm lionish
steps, but limping on three legs, one front paw caught
up off the ground. Then he arose and opened wide his
arms as though greeting a long-awaited, welcome
guest. And then the lion, in his turn, offered his front
paw. Jerome took it and cradled it gently in his hands. It
was all puffed up and swollen. He looked at it more
closely, and then he saw that a thorn lay buried in the
flesh.
«Poor beast, you have suffered much,» he said.
«But do not fret for we shall help you.» Then he
glanced towards the chapel and called: «Come
brother monks! Come here, there is work to be done!»
The door of the chapel opened, just a tiny crack,
and two eyes peered out. Then the door was flung
open, and all those monks saw Jerome and the lion,
standing together just like two friends. And they hung
their heads and, one by one, they crept out.
 «This mighty beast has come here seeking our aid,»
said Jerome. «So, good brothers, fetch hot water and
sweet healing herbs and clean linen that we may bathe
and bandage his poor injured paw.»
Then the monks set to work, their fear of the lion
quite forgotten. The mighty beast himself lay down,
and not a murmur did he make, even when they dug
into his swollen flesh and drew out the long sharp
thorn. And when everything was done, and the paw
carefully bandaged, Jerome led the lion to a monk’s
small cell.
«Stay here awhile,» he said, «and be our guest
until your paw has healed.»
Then the great big lion stretched himself out on
the floor, and, with a low contented rumbling, purred
his gratitude.
In a few days the paw healed. Then the lion padded
about the monastery, quite at home. He followed
Jerome wherever he went and lay quietly by his feet
while he studied; he showed no sign of wanting to leave.
A whole week passed. Then Jerome and some of his
 brother monks took the lion to the monastery gates.
They spoke to him. They pointed with their fingers.
They shooed with their hands. They tried in every way
they could to show him that it was now time to leave.
But the lion crouched down before them, growled softly
and refused to move.
«Brother lion, I see that you would stay with us,» said
Jerome, «and indeed you are welcome to share our
home. But it is our rule that no one is idle in this place.
We all have work to do — each according to his gifts. So if
you would stay, you too must work.»
The lion seemed to understand. He looked from one
to the other with his pale yellowish eyes and purred and
wagged his tail.
But the monks were uneasy. What work could a lion
do? No one knew. Some even wondered whether they
could trust him. Had he really forgotten his lionish ways?
«Once a lion, always a lion!» murmured one, and
others nodded their agreement.
But Jerome said that hetrusted the lion. So the doub-
ters were silenced, and a solemn meeting was arranged to
discuss the lion’s future.
All the monks came and so did the lion. He lay at
Jerome’s feet while everyone else sat round and thought
and frowned and thought some more. It was hard to
think of work that would suit a lion. At long last up spoke
a young monk.
«We are short of workmen in the fields,» he said.
«Now I know the lion cannot plough or sow or weed,
but he could do my work and so set me free to labour in
the fields.
«Every day I take our little donkey to collect firewood
from the forest. In the morning, to and fro we go; and in
the afternoon I take her out to graze on the hillside and
stay to guard her from wolves and robbers. Now surely
this is something the lion could do.»
«It shall be so,» said Jerome. «Henceforth our lion will
do your work.»
And that is how it came about that a great-maned lion
and a small frisky donkey set off each morning, side by
side, for the forest. When they came to the woodsman,
the lion stretched out on the grass and watched as the
empty panniers were loaded; and when all was ready, up
he jumped and off they went, but more slowly this time.
In the afternoon the lion would take the donkey out to
the hillside where she cropped the grass and whisked her
tail and sunned herself; and before darkness fell, they
would wend their way back to the monastery where a
good large supper awaited the lion.
Everything went well with the lion and the donkey until
one very hot sunshiny day. They were out on the hillside,
the donkey cropping the grass and the lion lying full-
stretch, watching her. Now maybe it was the heat, or
maybe he was bored, but anyway the lion grew drowsy.
He yawned a huge gulping yawn and tried to hold his
eyes open. But it was no use, he couldn’t help it, his eyes
kept closing and very soon he was fast asleep.
Alas, while the lion slept, some merchants who were
travelling to Egypt, their camels laden with silks and carpets
to sell, chanced to pass by. They saw the donkey. She
seemed to be alone and unguarded. Their eyes lit up. A
quick-stepping donkey was exactly what they needed to
sad their train of lazy stubborn camels.
Immediately two of the merchants left the others and
crept up behind her as she munched the grass, all unaware.
They caught hold of her mane, tied a rope around her neck
and led her away. And though she struggled and brayed,
long and piteously, the lion slept on.
 Presently he awoke. He stretched himself and idly
looked around. He could not see the donkey. He sprang
up and looked again. Still he could not see her. He boun-
ded higher up the hill and looked some more. He boun-
ded round and round, and up and down. But he could not
find her. He opened his mouth and roared in his distress,
and it would have made your heart heavy to hear him.
The shadows grew longer. Evening came. And then the
lion gave up hope. He bowed his head and plodded back
to the monastery. But when he reached the gates, he felt
so sad and sorry that he could not bring himself to enter.
Now some monks saw the lion standing there and
straight away they noticed that the donkey was not with
him.
«What has that lion done to our donkey?» they
thought. And with one accord they turned on him and in
their anger shouted at him.
«Where is the donkey? Did you kill her?»
«So — you greedy beast — you were hungry and ate her!»
«Away with you! We’ll feed you no longer!»
Then the lion slowly lifted his head. He looked so
forlorn that the monks grew uneasy and began to wonder
whether they were being unjust. So they decided to go to
the hillside and see for themselves what had happened.
When they got there, though they searched
everywhere, they could find not a trace of the donkey.
There were no bones, no sign of a fight, not even a
drop of blood upon the grass. They could not
understand it. So they returned to the monastery and
went to their abbot, Jerome, and told him everything.
«My brothers,» he said, «it seems that somehow or
other our lion has lost our donkey. And a very useful
donkey she was. We shall miss her. So now there is only
one thing to be done — the lion must take the donkey’s
place. Make a harness for him, set the panniers on his
back and send him to the forest to bring back the
firewood. But, my brothers, treat him kindly. Do not
tease him or torment him, and remember to feed him
each evening as of old.»
So, from that time on, it was the lion who carried the
firewood back to the monastery each morning. And
when his work was done, he would hurry out to the
hillside, and there he would search once more for his
friend, the donkey.
Now one afternoon the lion happened to look down
on the road that led from Egypt, and he saw some
merchants and a donkey and a train of swaying camels,
laden with pots of oil. As was the custom, the donkey led
the way with the camels string out behind, their har-
nesses linked to the donkey’s bridle. The lion watched
as the caravan drew closer. There seemed to be
something special about that donkey. Something
familiar. Suddenly he knew. This was not just anydonkey.
It was hisdonkey.
He let out a great bellowing roar and charged down
the hill. The merchants took one look. They saw a lion
and they ran for their lives. The camels reared and
plunged to left and right. But the donkey stood still and
stared.
Then the lion came to her and took her reins in his
mouth and led her off the road and up the lane towards
the monastery. At first the camels were so frightened
they turned and twisted, willing to move any way but
forward. But one growl from the lion and they quietened
and meekly followed the donkey.
When the monks saw the lion approaching, leading
their long-lost donkey and a string of heavily laden
camels, they hurried off to find Jerome. And when hesaw
the lion and the donkey and the camels, he was delighted.
«Open wide the gates,» he cried. «Let us welcome the
trusty lion who has found our donkey.»
Then they entered the monastery in one long proces-
sion, the lion and the donkey at the head.
And the mighty lion came and crouched before Jerome
and purred softly and wagged his tail, his joy complete
now that he had found and brought back his friend, the
donkey.
Now the merchants had been watching from a safe dis-
tance, and when they saw the donkey and their camels
and all their oil disappear from sight, they were alarmed
and hurried straight to the monastery and asked to see the
 abbot. .
«Excuse us, good sir,» they said to him, «but we have
reason to believe that you have our donkey and our
camels and our oil which we brought from Egypt. We
would be grateful if you would return them.»
«You are welcome to have what is yours,» said Jerome.
«You may take the camels and the oil, but that is all.»
«But our donkey — what about our donkey?» they
cried.
Jerome frowned. He could be severe and stern when
he chose.
«The donkey is ours,» he answered. «She was
stolen, but our trusty lion found her and brought her
back.»
Then the merchants were ashamed.
«Forgive us,» they said. «We must confess: we were
the thieves. We saw her alone on the hillside, cropping
the grass, and the temptation was too much for us so we
stole her. But now let us repay you. Our camels are laden
with oil — accept half of it as a gift. Then the lamps in
your chapel shall burn brightly and always be lit.»
And Jerome forgave the merchants and gladly accep-
ted their gift of oil. Then he invited them to stay awhile
as his guests.
Next morning the lion and the donkey were up early,
just as if nothing had happened. Two empty panniers
were hung on each side of the donkey’s back, and as she
trotted off towards the forest, she sniffed the air and
brayed with delight at being freed from captivity. The
great big lion padded along beside her, and if you had
been there, you would have heard a soft rumble as he
purred his contentment.
Margaret Mayo
 SAINT CADOC

Saint Cadoc was a learned man and a great traveller. He is

reputed to have visited Rome and Jerusalem, as well as
having lived for a while in Cornwall and Brittany. But it
was in South Wales that he spent most of his life, and it is
there he is most remembered.
Cadoc was born round about the year 522. He was the
son of a Welsh king, in the days when there were a number
of kings in Wales, each with their own small kingdom.
From the time he was a young boy, he loved to learn. It is
said that he sought out the holy man in the following
story because the man was Italian and could teach him
Latin, and if Cadoc was to read the Bible for himself, he
had to know Latin. One of his sayings which has come
down to us shows how much he valued learning. It is this:
«Without knowledge — no power, no wisdom, no
freedom, no beauty, no nobility, no victory, no honour,
no God.»
When he grew up, Cadoc became a monk and foun-
ded a monastery at Llancarfan, near Cardiff. The monks
there were famous for working hard. Not only did they
read and write and study, but they also cleared the forests
and cultivated the land.
The church of Llanspyddidd at Brecknock under
Bachan still bears Cadoc’s name, and it is claimed that it
stands on the spot where he saw the mouse and made his
great find.
He is remembered on January 24th.
THE TALE OF SAINT CADOC AND THE
MOUSE

There was once a great house in a green valley among

the hills of Wales. It was built of grey stone with a roof
and floor of wood, and under the house were cellars of
stone, cool in summer and dry in winter. Round the
house there lay wide fields where corn grew; and on the
hill-sides were purple heather and sweet-smelling thyme,
and woods with, wild roses and scented honeysuckle,
tall foxgloves, willow-herb and yellow ragwort, and many
other flowers where bees may gather honey. So when
summer came and the hives were filled, the golden honey
was made into mead and stored away in wooden casks
in a great cool cellar.
And when August came and the harvest was gathered,
the corn was brought home and threshed and stored in
sacks. The sacks were piled one on another rill another
deep cellar was full to the brim. Then the stone that
covered the opening was laid back, and the corn was
shut away, safe and dry till it was needed.
But after a time there was fierce fighting in that green
valley among the hills. And one night the great house
was burned to the ground. The walls and roof came
crashing down, and when morning dawned there was
only a smoking heap of stones. What happened to the
people who lived there no one knows; it is all so long
ago. But no one was left to plough the fields or to gather
the honey from the hives. The weeds grew up and choked
the corn; the pasture fields grew rough and «fagged, and
thorns and briars grew over all. Little by little moss and
grass covered the tumbled stones of the house, rill at
last there was only a green mound among trees and
bushes to show where the great house once stood. Deep
down under the ground, in the great cellars, the wooden
casks of mead crumbled away with age and the mead
was spilled and dried, and the sacks that held the corn
rotted and burst, and the corn came tumbling out, rill it
lay in a great golden-brown heap. But it was not spoiled,
in spite of all the years that went by; it still kept safe and
dry and good for food.
The years passed — ten years, twenty years, fifty years,
perhaps a hundred years and more, and presently no
one remembered about the great rich house with its
stores of corn and mead. People came to live in the
valley again, but they were poor folk, who lived in little
houses of wood and of stone roughly piled together,
with little fields around them where they grew their
patches of corn. And amongst them there lived a holy
man. He preached to them and taught them, he cared
for them when they were ill, lie helped them when they
were in trouble, and he scolded them when they
quarrelled. He was like a wise father and they were all his
children.
But there came a year when the people and the holy
man were in great distress. All through the summer there
had been wind and cold rain and little sunshine. The
hay harvest failed, and the corn harvest too. By the time
autumn came it seemed as if there would be very little
food for the folk and their Rattle in the cold winter days.
The holy man was anxious’» and the people were
frightened. «Pray for us,» they said, «pray for us, that
we may not starve in the winter.» And they all prayed
together, «Give us this day our daily bread.»
Then one day in autumn there came to the valley a
boy called Cadoc. He came from his home among the
mountains to beg to be allowed to live near the holy
man, to be his scholar and his servant, to work for him
and listen to his teaching, and so perhaps in time to be
able to teach and preach himself. He hoped that he too
might grow wise and helpful enough to travel among
the mountains, bringing the news of kindness and peace
and good-will wherever he went.
But when he asked, the holy man shook his head. «No,
my son,» he said, «no — there is not even food for the
people of the valley. Our little store cannot feed you
too. You must go away and find some other teacher.»
Cadoc could see that there seemed nothing else to
do. He could not take food from starving people. At first
he was bitterly disappointed. Then the thought came to
him that surely there must be a way, for he believed that
God had led him so far and that now He would show
him what was to be done. So he went out from the holy
man’s hut, and sat himself down in the autumn sunshine
at the foot of a great oak tree to think and to pray and
see what next to do.
He sat so still that a little mouse whose hole was under
the roots of the oak tree put its head out, looked at him
with bright black eyes and went pattering away among
the bushes. Cadoc never moved, and presently the little
mouse came pattering back again with something in its
mouth. It looked at him and was not afraid, and popped
into its hole. Out it came again and away it went, and
back it came with something in its mouth. Backwards
and forwards it came and went, and Cadoc smiled to
himself as he watched it. «Thislittle brother will not be
hungry,» he said; «his winter cupboard will be well-
filled.»
And as the mouse came running back a seventh time,
he leaned quietly forward to see what it was bringing.
But his movement startled Master Mouse and he let the
thing he carried drop and whisked into his hole. Cadoc
stretched out his hand and picked up the little mouse’s
treasure between his finger and thumb. And as he looked
at it, he saw it was a grain of wheat!
«What store is this little friend Mouse?» he said. «I
think that you must show me!»
So quickly and carefully he wove a little trap of twigs,
and in it he put a tiny piece of meat that smelled very
good to a mouse’s nose. Then he pulled a long white
thread from the edge of his rough woollen cloak. And
presently the mouse put out his head from his hole again,
and his sharp nose began to sniff and twitch as he won-
dered what could possibly smell so strange and so good.
Then he saw where the smell came from, and quick as a
flash he whisked into the little trap; down fell the tiny
door and Master Mouse was caught. Very frightened he
was, poor little fellow, and still more frightened when
Cadoc’s great thumb and finger came gently feeling for
him and held him fast.
But he was very soon set free again with a white thread
tied around his little body. And you will soon see why.
The first thing he did, you may be sure, was to pop
into his own safe hole again, and it was quite a long while
before he came out once more. But Cadoc waited very
patiently, hiding behind the oak tree, and at last out
peeped the mouse. It saw that all seemed safe and away
it scampered. Cadoc followed as fast as he could; one
small mouse is easy to lose sight of. But a mouse with a
white thread tied round it is not very difficult to follow,
and though Master Mouse ran very fast, Cadoc could
run too. He kept the white thread in sight rill it vanished
down a hole in the side of the green mound where, as
you and I know, the great house of the Valley once had
been.
Cadoc did not know that, but he called the holy man
and the men of the valley, and they dug carefully into
the mound and moved aside the fallen stones till they
came to the mouth of the cellar where the corn was
stored. The great stone that covered it was cracked with
age, and there was just room for a small mouse to slip in
and help himself to the corn that lay beneath.
So, after all, there was food that winter for the people
who lived in the valley. They emptied the cellar and
shared the corn amongst them, and there was enough
for all, and for their horses and cattle too. And I hope
that they left some grains for Master Mouse’s winter
store!
And Cadoc stayed with the holy man, to serve him
and to listen to his teaching, till the time came when he
too was able to preach and teach. Then he journeyed
away to other mountain valleys, and used what he had
learned to help others.
 SAINT MELANGELL OR MONACELLA
This saint is known in Wales as Melangell, but in the
story that follows she is called Monacella which is the
Latin form of her name.
She lived in the sixth century, and though she was the
daughter of a king, she lived by herself for many years
in a lonely and beautiful part of Central Wales. It is
thought that later in her life other Christian women
joined her and they formed a small community.
The story tells how she became the patron saint of
hares and why people used to call them “her little
lambs”. The man who was hunting hares is said to have
been Brochwel Ysgythrog., Prince of Powys, and the
church of Pennant Melangell, in Montgomeryshire, is
reputed to stand on the site of the happening. Inside it
there are some medieval carvings, depicting the story of
the hare. While the saint lived, and long after her death,
no one in that parish would kill a hare. It was even
believed that if anyone saw a hunted hare and cried out:
«God and Melangell preserve thee!» then the hare would
be sure to escape.
She is remembered on January 31st.
 MONACELLA AND HER LITTLE LAMBS
There was once a princess who lived among the
mountains of Wales. Her name was Monacella, and
everyone loved her because she was so kind and gentle.
If the village people were ill, Monacella would go and
sit with them, nursing them, telling them stories, and
bringing them warm nourishing soups. If she met a child
crying, Monacella would dry its tears and comfort it. If
she met a poor little animal which was hurt, she took it
to the castle, bound up its wounds, fed it until it was
well, and then carried it back to the woods and let it run
away home. When Monacella was sixteen she was so
beautiful and so famous for her gentleness, that princes
came to her father’s castle, asking to marry her. One of
the princes was very grand. He had a large castle and
many soldiers to fight for him, and when Monacella’s
father saw him he thought, «Ah! my daughter shall marry
this prince. He’s so powerful that he will help me to
fight against all my enemies. With his help I shall be
able to burn castles and carry off prisoners and booty!»
So he sent for Monacella and said, «Daughter, call your
sewing maids to sew and embroider for you. You must
have some beautiful clothes, for you are going to marry
a great prince, who will help me to fight against my
enemies!»
But Monacella was very unhappy. She did not care a
bit about beautiful clothes, and she did not want to marry
a prince. She hated life in the castle, where people were
always fighting and burning, killing and carrying off
prisoners. She did not want to marry and live in another
castle where her husband would be doing exactly the
same things as her father.
So she went up to her little room in the tower and she
sat down and thought. She said to herself, «I don’t want
to live here. I don’t want to live in another prince’s castle.
I want to go to a place where there will be no more war
and fighting and cruelty a lovely quiet place where I can
pray to God and live in peace.»
That night Monacella packed a little basket of food,
crept out of her father’s castle and went away into the
woods. For a long time she wandered about, climbing
the hills and passing through the forests, until she came
to a copse in a beautiful green valley.
Monacella sat down to rest, and she looked about her.
At her feet rippled a little stream, and not far away she
saw two overhanging rocks which formed a sort of cave.
When Monacella saw the cave she was delighted. She
knelt down on the grass and lifted her face to the sky,
saying, “Thank you, God, for sending me a little home.»
Then she stood up and began to gather moss and
bracken, and when she had collected enough she made
herself a bed in the cave. She felt very happy, for she
knew that she was going to be quite quiet and peaceful.
For a long time Monacella was alone in her little
copse. She drank from the stream and she fed upon wild
berries. But by and by the people from the valley found
out that she was there, and they came to make friends
with her. After that, Monacella used to go to their houses
and nurse their sick and look after their babies. The
people of the valley grew to love her very dearly because
she was so gentle and holy. They used to bring her fruit
from their gardens, fresh eggs, and little cakes, so that
she need no longer drink only water and eat only berries.
But there were others who learned to love Monacella
besides the people of the valley. These were the
woodland folk. The thrushes and the blackbirds loved
her, and when she sang her morning hymn, they sang
too. The little brown wrens, the robins, sparrows and
starlings all learned to love her. And when she peeped
into their nests to look at their babies or their pretty little
speckled eggs, they were none of them afraid. The
weasels, the foxes and the badgers, the hedgehogs, the
rabbits and the hares popped out from the bracken when
she came past, and said, «Good-day, Monacella! God
bless you!» And she answered, «God bless all the beasts
of the wood.»
One morning, long after Monacella had left her
father’s castle, a little brown hare went loping through
the valley. The sun was shining, and he felt very
comfortable, so he did not hurry. He stopped to nibble
the grass. Whenever he found a juicy bud or a tender
root, he wrinkled up his nose and wobbled his stumpy
tail, and whispered, «Ooooh, delicious!»
He was really enjoying himself when suddenly he
heard a sound which made his ears twitch with fear and
his eyes grow big and frightened. He turned first this
way and then that, and he sniffed the air. Down the
breeze came the sound of a horn and the distant barking
of dogs. The lord of the land was hunting, and his hounds
had picked up the scent of the little hare.
«Oh, dear! Oh, dear!» thought the hare. «I must run. I
must run like the wind.» And away he scampered
through the green valley, in and out among the thickets
and brambles, past the marshes and up the hills, and all
the time he was saying to himself, «I want Monacella! If
I can find Monacella I shall be safe.»
He twisted and turned and he doubled back, but the
young lord’s hounds were the fastest in the land, and on
they came, twenty hounds to one poor little hare.
“” Ho-ho! Ho-ho! We must catch that hare!’’ bayed
the hounds, and «I must get to Monacella! I must get to
Monacella!» cried the hare, and darted through the
bushes and over the mosses and dead leaves into
Monacella’s little wood, with the hounds coming helter
skelter behind — so close, so terribly close, that they
nearly snapped at the little hare’s brown fur.
Oh, what a scuttering, scurrying and rushing! What a
crackling of leaves and pattering of feet! The hounds
were in full cry, the little hare running, and all the birds
and the beasts and even the wind were whispering,
«Monacella! Monacella! Someone’s in trouble! Where
are you?»
Then there was a little rustle among the grasses, and a
clear voice said, «God bless all the beasts in the wood!»
Suddenly everything was quite quiet.
Down in the valley came the faint sound of a horn,
and in a few minutes the lord of the land came riding up
to the wood. He had to part the branches to get through,
but he knew he was right. He knew that his hounds had
driven a little hare into this wood.
«Here! Here! Dogs! «he called, but his hounds did not
answer, and the wood was very still. The young lord
called again, and pushed his way through a thicket into
a little open space.
He stopped with astonishment. There on a rock, with
her eyes closed and her hands folded, sat a beautiful
lady in a grey robe. At her feet was a little brown hare,
and sitting in a circle looking up at her were all his own
hounds!
When they saw their master coming, the hounds
looked round and their tails went thump, thump,
thump on the ground, and their big brown eyes
seemed to say, «We don’t know what’s happened! But
we can’t do anything while she’s saying her prayers.»
And, strange to say, when the lord of the land saw
Monacella, he was just like the hounds. He did not want
to kill or to hunt, and he suddenly felt very glad that the
little brown hare was safe.
When Monacella opened her eyes, the young man’s
face was very red and his voice a little husky. «Lady,» he
said, «I don’t know who you are, but I know you’re
gentle and kind. God sent this little hare to you for
safety.» Then he took off his silk cap and he bowed very
low. «Because you are gentle and love the wild things, I
will give you this valley. It shall be a sanctuary. Nobody
shall ever again hunt hares or set traps so long as the
beasts of the wood live near you.»
He called his dogs, and one by one they licked
Monacella’s hand and went away. And all the time the
little hare sat on her robe and did not look the tiniest bit
frightened.
After that nobody ever hunted in that part of the valley,
and MonaceJla lived there in peace. And all the hares
from near at hand came to live with her. They scampered
in front when she walked, they peeped from behind the
bushes when she prayed. Wherever she went they
pattered about with her.
When the shepherds in the valley were driving their
sheep home to the folds, they sometimes met Monacella
with the hares scampering at her feet, and they used to
smile and say, «There goes the shepherdess with her
lambs! Goodnight, Monacella! God bless all the beasts
of the wood.»
Rhoda Power
 SAINT KENETH
Saint Keneth, or Cenydd as he is called in the Welsh
language, was a holy man who lived as a hermit by the
rocky shores of the Gower Peninsula in South Wales.
On old maps the chapel of St. Kinetus, which is Latin
for Keneth, is marked near the coast at Worm’s Head,
and some think that this may be the Isle of Inisweryn
where, according to the story, Keneth grew up.
Saint Keneth’s day used to be the greatest and most
popular festival in Gower. On that day people would
celebrate by eating something called “white pot” which
was a mixture of flour and milk boiled together. This
was thought to be in memory of the doe’s milk that baby
Keneth drank.
He lived in the sixth century and his day is August 1st.
 THE MARVELLOUS STORY OF SAINT
KENETH AND THE GULLS
Many years ago — some even say that it was in the
days of King Arthur — there lived a prince in Brittany
called Prince Dihoc. One winter he and his family and
all his servants took boats and crossed the sea and came
to the Gower Peninsula in Wales so that they might
celebrate the feast of Christmas at the king’s court.
Now while the prince was in Wales, a son was born to
him. He was a lovely baby, happy and contented, but
he was not perfect. One tiny leg was bent back on itself
and useless.
When Prince Dihoc heard that his son was not like
other children, he would not so much as look at him.
He had wanted a son that could run fast and nimble-
footed over the hills, a son that could gallop across
battle-fields and wield a sword. He had wanted a warrior
son, not a cripple. The prince was a hard man and he
knew no pity. There and then, he commanded his
servants to take the child and throw him into the river.
But when the servants saw the baby, so small and so
helpless, they were filled with a tender love and they
could not bring themselves to drown him. Somehow they
must give him the chance to live. But what could they
do? They could not hide him from the prince. They
thought and they thought; and at last they knew what
they would do.
They looked about and found a wicker basket. Then
they found an old piece of leather. They pulled it and
stretched it and stitched it around the basket until they
had made a light little water-tight boat — a coracle they
called it. Then, because the baby was a royal child, they
took some purple cloth and folded it and made a soft
purple mattress.
 Now everything was ready, so the servants wrapped
the baby in a woollen shawl and laid him in the little
basket and carried it down to the river. Slowly and
carefully, they lowered it into the water and gave a gentle
push.
With a twist and a turn, the basket was off, hurrying
downstream past fields and woods and meadows, ever
onward, towards the open sea. And when it reached the
sea, what happened then? Why, it bobbed about on the
waves for a while, quite at home.
But, alas, all of a sudden a mighty wind sprang up and
it drove the little craft, swaying and dancing on the crest
of the waves, straight to the rocky shores of the Isle of
Inisweryn. Finally, a huge wave, towering above the rest,
caught hold of it and cast it high on a lonely beach.
In the sky above, sea-gulls were hovering. They
seemed to be watching and waiting; and as soon as the
little basket came to rest on the shore, a great cloud of
them came swirling down. Immediately they took hold
of it, some with their claws and some with their hooked
beaks, and they flew with it, up and over the high cliffs
until they came to a sheltered hollow. Then down they
flew, gently lowering the basket to the ground.
Then, with one accord, the gulls began to pluck downy
feathers from off their breasts and to lay them on and
around the baby, until they had made a warm feathery
quilt. When they had finished, they flew up and silently
hovered over him, spreading their wings, tip to tip, so
that they might shelter him from the wind and rain and
flurries of snow. All through the night they stayed and
kept watch over him.
In the morning the baby awoke. He felt hungry so,
like most babies, he began to cry and wave his little fists.
But, strange to say, in one little fist he held a brass bell
which tinkled sweetly as he shook it. How he got the
bell, no one knows. Perhaps a servant gave it to him.
But one thing is for sure: this was no ordinary bell. At
the sound of its tinkling, a mother deer came running
swiftly from a nearby wood. She came right to where
the baby was. She sniffed about him and licked him,
and then she fed him with her milk.
 From that time on, whenever he waved his fist and
the bell tinkled, the mother deer came running to him.
And so he grew, a happy contented baby safe in his basket
at the top of the cliffs, watched over by the friendly gulls,
fed by the mother deer and washed clean by her warm
tongue.
One fine day when the gulls were busy diving for fish,
a farmer happened to pass by the sheltered hollow at
the top of the cliffs.
« What is this?» he said, and walked over to the leather
covered basket. He looked inside and a bonny baby
smiled up at him. «A gift from heaven,» he murmured,
and he thought of his wife who loved babies so very much
but had no child of her own.
Straight away he picked up the basket and hurried
home to his dear wife. And she was delighted when she
saw the baby. She fussed and cooed over him, and
washed him, and changed his clothes and put him back
in the basket, tucking a coverlet she had all around him.
But one bird had seen the farmer taking the basket,
and he shrieked and screamed in his distress. One by
one the other gulls heard and came flying to him. And
when they saw that their baby had gone, they swooped
and circled and flapped their wings, adding their wild
harsh cries to his. Then, in one great flock, they flew to
the farmer’s cottage. They wheeled round and round it,
screaming more harshly than ever.
The farmer and his wife heard the noise and opened
the door and looked out. Immediately the gulls soared
up into the sky and then, like a great winged army, dived
down in two separate flocks. One flock landed on the
farmer’s cows and jabbed their beaks into the poor
creatures and so terrified them that they began to bellow
and run. Faster and faster went the cows, straight towards
the high cliffs and the sea.
Meanwhile the other flock of gulls swooped past the
farmer and his wife and flew in at the door. Two birds
pulled the new coverlet off the baby and perched
themselves on the edge of the basket as if to guard him,
while all the rest whirled about the room.
The woman began to cry when she saw those birds,
flying about inside her house. Her husband put his arm
around her. He was so sick at heart that he could almost
have cried himself as he watched his cows rush towards
the sea and certain death. Then suddenly he realized
why the gulls had come. It was the baby they wanted.
Only the baby. Nothing else.
«Take the child!» he cried. «Take him! He is yours!»
Then, lest they did not understand, he picked up the
basket and ran with it all the way to the sheltered hollow
at the top of the cliffs; and he left the baby there, just
where he had found him.
Now when the farmer ran out with the basket, the birds
in the room flew after him and called to their brothers
that were perched on the cows. And what did they dp?
Why they promptly turned the cows, head to tail, and
drove them back again.
Then all the gulls gathered together above the baby,
safe in his basket at the top of the cliffs, and until darkness
fell, they circled round and round, calling to one another
joyfully now that their baby had returned.
Weeks and months passed by. The mother deer still
came and washed and fed the little baby, and the gulls
still watched over him. Nor did the farmer and his wife
forget him. They came secretly when the gulls were
fishing and brought food and clothes and the warmth of
their love.
And so the baby grew, until soon he was old enough
to hobble about on his one good leg, with the aid of a
stout stick. Then he took care of himself and lived
openly. Other people who lived in the farms round about
came to know him; and they gave him a name. They
called him Keneth.
As a young boy Keneth learnt about God from the
kind farmer and his wife. He was a serious boy, and he
often thought and wondered about his strange and
marvellous childhood. “Surely,» he would say, «God
took care of me.»
When he became a man, Keneth decided to live a
quiet and holy life. He built himself a hut of woven-
willow and roofed it with reeds; and there he lived, close
by the sea and the constant cry of his friends, the sea-
gulls.
Margaret Mayo