. A child's book of warriors . ere one momentor a hundred years he could not tell. Then he becameaware that there was One who stood beside him. Two-and-twenty years had passed away. It wassummer in the Bithynian hills. The chestnut woodswere in the flush of June. Sails of many coloursflitted upon the breezy waters. High over all, thesnowy summits of Olympus floated like a Nicaea, at the head of the lake, the white storkslooked down from the marble tops of the basilicaupon such stir and excitement as had never yet beenseen in its colonnaded streets. It was the year ofthat holy synod in
. A child's book of warriors . ere one momentor a hundred years he could not tell. Then he becameaware that there was One who stood beside him. Two-and-twenty years had passed away. It wassummer in the Bithynian hills. The chestnut woodswere in the flush of June. Sails of many coloursflitted upon the breezy waters. High over all, thesnowy summits of Olympus floated like a Nicaea, at the head of the lake, the white storkslooked down from the marble tops of the basilicaupon such stir and excitement as had never yet beenseen in its colonnaded streets. It was the year ofthat holy synod in which East and West met for thefirst time to restore the peace of Christendom. The voice of Constantine had echoed through theworld: Give me back my tranquil days and mynights free from care, 0 you ministers of the MostHigh God, who are destroying the one fold with yourneedless wrangling over mysteries beyond the subtletyof man. But still the wild songs of Arius drove thepeople to madness; artisans, tradesmen, sailors took 28. H& COt-E ^ J6en he hecame aware ffjat fficre zvas Oncimfh) stoodicside him Bait the Attacot up the ribald tunes in the streets, and the emperorsstatues were broken in the fierce encounter of rivalmobs. It was the clash of the rock-giants, saidthe Bishop of Caesarea, the Symplegades, whenwinter howls down the Hellespont. There was no choice but to call together the greatteachers and examplars of the Church, and bid themsettle their bitter dissensions. They came from theends of the empire—bishops from Spain and therivers of Assyria, from the Gothic forests and theshores of Mauretania; gaunt desert-fathers who borethe names of the old gods of Egypt; aged confessorswhose testimony was written in the seared faces, thescored sides, and the maimed limbs. Such a con-course of the mighty in Israel no man living couldhope to see twice in the world. The streets were thronged with fiery partisans,strangely clad anchorets, disputing philosophers,slaves, trav
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