bones and feathers rolled into a lump and laid inside the door of
the little chapel; the very sea, says Reginald, not having dared to
swallow them up. Whereby the hapless Liveing being betrayed, was
soundly flogged, and put on bread and water for many a day; the
which story Liveing himself told to Reginald.

Not only the eider, but all birds in Farne, were protected by St.
Cuthbert's peace. Bartholomew, who was a famous hermit there in
after years, had a tame bird, says the chronicler, who ate from his
hand, and hopped about the table among him and his guests, till some
thought it a miracle; and some, finding, no doubt, the rocks of
Farne weary enough, derived continual amusement from the bird. But
when he one day went off to another island, and left his bird to
keep the house, a hawk came in and ate it up. Cuthbert, who could
not save the bird, at least could punish the murderer. The hawk
flew round and round the island, imprisoned, so it was thought, by
some mysterious power, till, terrified and worn out, it flew into
the chapel, and lay, cowering and half dead, in a corner by the
altar. Bartholomew came back, found his bird's feathers, and the
tired hawk. But even the hawk must profit by St. Cuthbert's peace.
He took it up, carried it to the harbour, and there bade it depart
in St. Cuthbert's name, whereon it flew off free, and was no more
seen. Such tales as these may be explained, even to their most
minute details, by simply natural causes: and yet, in this age of
wanton destruction of wild birds, one is tempted at moments to wish
for the return of some such graceful and humane superstition which
could keep down, at least in the name of mercy and humanity, the
needless cruelty of man.

But to return. After St. Cuthbert, says Bede, had served God in the