“Thou wilt bring thy little son to God, and God will surely make him a fountain of blessing to the world,” said Damaris, very tenderly. “But we scarcely needed a dream to promise us that!”
Then very earnestly Ethne added to Marius—
“This child may be called Paul, may he not? Because of Paul’s conquering Nero, and because of his letter to the master about his slave.” Which request was solemnly promised to be fulfilled, and the mother forbidden to discourse any further for the time.
Lucia, meantime, having in vain sought loyally for a Celtic name which Latin lips could pronounce, and which would not seem too barbarous for her little son, finally contented herself and every one with the name of Patrick, the Apostle of the Irish.
And so, when the next Baptismal Festival came, at the Epiphany, the two babes were brought to the baptistery of Constantine at the Lateran.
And there, in the water from the fountains on the Sabine hills (as Ethne liked to think), the Aqua Claudia and the Fons Ceruleus, the two little sons of Rome and Ireland were baptized by the great Bishop Leo, and sent forth on their journey of life, to be known thenceforth by the dear and consecrated names of Paul and Patrick.
