THE SEVENTH DAY
When Akela woke up she could hear the roar of the sea dashing up on the rocks. There was a regular gale blowing, and every now and then the wind brought a lash of rain out of the grey sky. So she decided to let the Cubs sleep as late as possible.
It was 8.30 before the first one woke up.
Arriving at the field, they found that Father and Mother and the two orderlies had succeeded in getting the fire to burn (though the rain was coming down pretty fast now), and hot porridge and tea were all ready. Prayers and breakfast both had to be in the store tent—a bit of a squash, but everyone was as cheery as usual.
After breakfast it cleared up—luckily, for a party of choirboys from Portsmouth were coming over for the day.
They arrived about 1.0, and were quite ready for dinner, after the tossing they had had on the boat. Dinner consisted of large beef and ham sandwiches, and "spuds," and jam roly-poly. There was a real hurricane blowing; the beef and ham and bread got blown off the plates as the orderlies handed it round!
When everyone had eaten as much as they could hold, the Cubs collected in the lee of the tent for their rest, and the choirboys, not being Cubs, thought it a suitable moment to go in the swings and hammocks.
After that there was a cricket match, and then the Cubs and some of the choirboys bathed.
A big London scout, who had met the Cubs in the street and claimed brotherhood, also spent the day in camp. No one knew his name, and he was just called "Kangaroo," because that was his patrol. When the choirboys had gone, Kangaroo and the Cubs had a good rag.
That night in the Coach-house the big doors had to be shut, or the candle would never have kept alight. You could hear the wind whipping up the white horses all over the great black sea, and laughing to see the way they jumped up over the rocks.
But it was nice and cosy in the Coach-house. The Cubs had got out some extra blankets, and sat wrapped up in them like so many Indian chiefs.
"You promised to tell us St. Antony to-night," said Sam.
"Yes," said Akela; "I know you will like the story of his life. Well, he was one of St. Francis's Friars—the most famous one of all. But when you have heard his story you will see that with the Saints it was possible for a man to be a "wonder-worker," as St. Antony was called, and yet think nothing of himself at all, and expect no one else to pay him honour and respect. So much did St. Antony hate swank and love humility that he let no one know what wonderful powers he had, until one day God made an adventure happen which showed everybody what he really was."
"Tell us—tell us," said the Cubs.
So Akela squatted down in the middle of the listening Cubs, and began.