Many years ago there lived in the city of Rome a rich man who owned a great number of slaves.
One slave, named Androclus, grew very weary of the hard work he was forced to do, and upon a dark night ran away from his home.
At first he did not know where to go, but ran blindly through the streets until at length, when almost breathless, he found himself outside of the city.
There he could travel more slowly; but he must, nevertheless, go steadily on or he would be caught and fed to the lions. For this was the law; a runaway slave was cast into the arena into which hungry lions were driven.
Poor Androclus was very much frightened as he went on his way thinking how dreadful it would be if he were found.
Just as the morning light broke gently over the hills, he came to the edge of a thick woods.
“This is the very place to hide,” he thought; and plunged into the dense thickets.
On and on he stumbled; on and on, even though he was so tired and thirsty that he feared he would faint.
At last, just when he thought he could not take another step, he heard the sound of running water, and in a minute or two, he came to a beautiful little brook.
By its side he knelt and drank; but although the cool water refreshed him, he found that he had not strength to go on.