John ran to him. "Do not go to the wicked man!" he whispered. "They
may kill you. Oh, what should I do then?"

The Hermit shook his head. "I must go," he said. "It is written, 'Do
good to them that hate you.' There is no question of my duty."

"Oh, let me then go with you, father," pleaded John.

The Hermit laid his hand on the boy's head, and looked at him tenderly.
"The time is not yet ripe, my son," he said. "Who knows what all this
may mean? Wait a little longer. Stay and care for our little friends.
From the nearest village I will send Brutus back to you. You will not
be lonely, with your work and play as usual. Do not neglect either.
Adieu, my dear son!" And he blessed John.

Embracing the boy and bidding farewell to the other friends, the Hermit
took his staff and bag of simples, and wrapped his cloak about him. "I
trust you, John," he said at the door. "Be patient, obedient, and
wise." Then in the folds of his cloak he took the carrier pigeon. "I
will send you word by our friend, if need be," he said, as he went out
into the darkness.

Brutus and the messenger followed him closely. The door banged behind
them, and John was alone with the circle of frightened, cowering
creatures. He threw himself on his knees before the Hermit's table,
and laying his head on the book, began to weep, he scarcely knew why.