"You must fast," said the hermit.
"Ah, no!" said Offero. "If I fasted I should lose my great strength."
"Then you must pray," said the hermit.
"How can I pray?" asked Offero, "I know no prayers."
"Then," said the gentle old man, "I think the Son of Mary would be pleased to have you use your strength in some good work. Why not carry travellers across the stream in the name of the Son of Mary?"
"That is just to my mind," cried Offero, overjoyed. So straightway he built a hut by the swift stream, and cut a stout staff to steady his steps when the river roared high.
Travellers were glad to be helped on their way by this rough yet kindly giant. Sometimes they offered him money, but he always shook his great head. "I do this for the love of the Son of Mary," he said.
Many years went by. Offero's hair was now white as snow and his back was a little bent. But his strength was still great. One night, as he lay asleep, he was awakened by a voice, such a gentle, pleading little voice—"Dear, good, kind Offero, carry me across!"
He sprang to his feet, caught up his staff, and crossed to the farther shore. No one was there.
"I must have been dreaming," thought Offero as he laid himself down in his bed once more.