"Look you, my friends," said Winfried, "how sweet and peaceful is
this convent to-night, on the eve of the nativity of the Prince of
Peace! It is a garden full of flowers in the heart of winter; a
nest among the branches of a great tree shaken by the winds; a
still haven on the edge of a tempestuous sea. And this is what
religion means for those who are chosen and called to quietude and
prayer and meditation.

"But out yonder in the wide forest, who knows what storms are
raving to-night in the hearts of men, though all the woods are
still? who knows what haunts of wrath and cruelty and fear are
closed to-night against the advent of the Prince of Peace? And
shall I tell you what religion means to those who are called and
chosen to dare and to fight, and to conquer the world for Christ?
It means to launch out into the deep. It means to go against the
strongholds of the adversary. It means to struggle to win an
entrance for their Master everywhere. What helmet is strong enough
for this strife save the helmet of salvation? What breastplate can
guard a man against these fiery darts but the breastplate of
righteousness? What shoes can stand the wear of these journeys but
the preparation of the gospel of peace?"

"Shoes?" he cried again, and laughed as if a sudden thought had
struck him. He thrust out his foot, covered with a heavy cowhide
boot, laced high about his leg with thongs of skin.

"See here,--how a fighting man of the cross is shod! I have seen
the boots of the Bishop of Tours,--white kid, broidered with silk;
a day in the bogs would tear them to shreds. I have seen the