Red Caps and Lilies

by Katharine Adams

He stood up, his great height bringing him almost to a level with the rough stone ceiling, and, coming over to them, answered their welcoming call of “Dian, come and stay with us,” with a smile that had in it something of sadness. Then he went over to the chest and, standing by it, beckoned them to come to him. They came, all of them, and looked at him in wonder as he stood there lost in thought.

Suddenly he turned toward Lisle, who stood beside him, and he touched him lightly on the shoulder. It was as though he was knighting him for something.

“You are the last of these Saint Frères who have been such a brave race of men. You have the name of the first one of them of whom there is record, and of whom there is much to remember. He helped to build this hidden place with his own hands. He said that one member of the family in each generation should know of this cellar and, knowing, should bear in mind always that it was built with a prayer, and that the prayer was to remember one’s brother, to turn away from tyranny and the lust of power. That was what the first Lisle Saint Frère wanted of those of his own blood who were to come after him.” Dian looked at Lisle as he spoke. “Your grandfather was the one who came nearest to the first Lisle’s wish. Of that I am sure,” he said simply.

Then Lisle did a strange thing, so unlike him that those about him could not believe their eyes. He clasped his hands as though in prayer and stood silent for a moment, and it was as though he neither saw nor was aware of those about him.

“Help me to be like the first Lisle,” he prayed.

“Dian—see Dian’s face!” whispered Rosanne to Marie Josephine, and they both turned and looked up at the shepherd. There was a light on his face, and in his eyes a depth of happiness.

Dian took a key from his inner pocket, and stooping over, unlocked the chest. Then he turned and looked again at Lisle.

“I believe that you will be like the first Lisle and that you will have knowledge beyond his to work out a way of helping the people, and all those that need you,” he said. Then he leaned over, and, reaching down into the depths of the chest, drew out a tray. It was made of iron and it exactly fitted the chest. On it were bags, some of goatskin, some of raw hides, several of velvet, and one of leather.

He touched them softly with his hands, tenderly, broodingly, the way a miser might have touched his wealth, after the visit of an angel who had awakened him to the glories of giving, instead of keeping.

“There is gold here, old money, some of which is valueless but for the spirit in which it was given. The one of each generation who has known of the secret cellar has put something here, has given of his store,” he said.