And so he parted from the devil and as he went away the devil laughed and mocked him. Christopher wandered a long time, inquiring here and there for the man who had died upon the cross. Finally, one day he found a priest, who lived in a cave that opened upon a beautiful river. Tired, footsore and weary, he sat down at the invitation of the priest, who brought him refreshing water from the spring and gave him food. After he had rested a moment, he said to the priest: “Can you tell me about the man who died on the cross?” for Christopher had never heard of this man until the devil had told him. “Yes,” said the priest, “right gladly will I tell you the story of his life.”
Then the priest told Christopher how the man of Galilee had lived, and toiled, and suffered to make the world better; how he was crucified, died, and rose again. The story was a new and beautiful one to Christopher, the wonder of it! The priest told him that though this man was dead, his spirit was still in the world to make the world better. Then Christopher said to the priest: “He is the one that I wish to serve. How can I serve him?” Then the priest said: “You see this river?—there is no bridge for the people to cross; it is wide and at times dangerous. If you would serve him, help those who try to cross the river. You are tall, with broad shoulders and mighty strength. Day after day people as they travel through this land come to this river but cannot cross—you can help them across, and in that way you will serve him who, though dead, still lives.”
That pleased Christopher so that he built a house of logs and boughs by the river’s side, and when people came to the river he would wade through the water, take them on his shoulders and bear them across. Years passed by; Christopher grew grey in the service of humanity and his Master. Those who saw him day after day admired him and looked for him and he became a friend of all the country, loved by all.
One dark night when Christopher lay upon his bed, he heard some one calling, like the voice of a child: “Oh! Christopher, kind, good Christopher, come help me across!” Christopher arose from his bed and seizing his great staff, waded through the water until he reached the other side of the river, but there he found no one; all was silent, save the ripple and murmur of the waves along the river’s margin. “Strange,” he said, “I thought I heard some one calling.”
After looking all around, he said: “I must have been mistaken,” and waded back through the water to the other side of the river and lay down upon his couch again. But soon thereafter he heard the same voice calling: “Oh! Christopher, kind, good Christopher, come help me across!” “Strange,” said Christopher to himself, “some one must be there,” and seizing his staff he again crossed the river.
But no one could he find, all was silent. Above his head the stars shone, and he said to himself: “Strange it is I cannot find him who called me.”
He went across the river and laid down upon his bed again. He had not been lying there long before he heard the voice calling him a third time: “Oh! Christopher, kind, good Christopher, come help me across!” Christopher sat upon his bed—he was troubled. “Strange,” he said, “some one calls me and yet I cannot find him.” But again seizing his staff he said: “I will make one more trip.” When he reached the other side of the river, there he saw a little boy, and he said: “My little man, where were you,—twice I crossed the river to find you?” The little boy said: “I was here.” And then Christopher bent low and took the little man upon his shoulders and waded through the water, but the boy grew heavier until he seemed as heavy as a man. When Christopher reached the other side and put him down and turned to look to see why, what seemed to be a little child should be so heavy—lo! he was more than a child; a young man in appearance, with a shining face, and he said to Christopher: “I am he whom you serve; bury your staff and after a certain number of days buds will appear thereon.” Then he disappeared, vanishing as a mist, or as a shadow, though Christopher saw not. He went and lay down upon his couch and slept in great peace of mind and body.
Years passed. Christopher was still beloved by all the people and faithful to his work, but his days were numbered. Though somewhat feeble, he still bore the people on his shoulders across the river. One dark stormy night, when the wind roared through the treetops and the rain fell, Christopher, lying upon his bed, heard a voice call. He tried to rise and answer; he did go in response to the voice, but it was his spirit only that went, the last call had come to him.
The next morning the storm was gone and the sky was blue. People came to cross the river and called as usual to Christopher, but there was no response. They thought perhaps he was asleep and went to the cottage. There they found him-— asleep, but it was the long sleep. And a smile was on his face. Because of his service to the people they afterwards called him Saint Christopher.
SOULS THAT HAVE TOIL’D AND WROUGHT AND THOUGHT WITH ME—