"My brother, I preach in my own parish; I am not in need of anyone to aid me in my task."
Francis bowed, and went out. An hour later, he presented himself again.
"What have you come for again?" asked the bishop, angrily. "What do you want?"
"My lord," answered Francis, in his simple way, "when a father turns his son out of one door, the son has but one thing to do—to return by another."
This holy boldness won the bishop's heart.
"You are right," he said. "You and your brothers may preach in my diocese. I give you a general permission to do so. Your humility deserves nothing less!"
Francis never considered himself at liberty to "shake the dust" of a city off his feet unless he had tried and tried again and again, to get a hearing there; indeed, nothing convinced him of the uselessness of his quest unless he were thrown out neck and crop, then it was more than likely he would gather himself up, and try another entrance! He entirely forgot himself in his love for his Master.
His love of truth was with him almost a passion. Between his thoughts, and his words, and his actions there was a perfect agreement, neither one contradicted the other; he saw to it that it was so, knowing that nothing hurt the Gospel of Christ like insincerity or double dealing. Distractions in prayer he looked upon as secret lies, and saying with the lips what the heart did not go with.
"How shameful," he used to say, "to allow oneself to fall into vain distractions when one is addressing the great King! We should not speak in that manner even to a respectable man!"
On one occasion he had carved a little olive-wood vase, probably meaning to sell it for food. But, while at prayer one day, some thought connected with this work came into his mind, distracting his soul for the moment. Instantly he was full of contrition, and, as soon as he left his prayer, hastened to put his vase into the fire, where never again it could come between his soul and God!