When he was old enough to tend the sheep on the grassy slopes of Lammermoor, Cuthbert became a little shepherd lad. He was gay and careless as were his playmates.

The old folk among whom his childhood was spent loved Cuthbert well. When he became a Saint they often talked together of those early days when he seemed just like other boys. Only now they were sure that he had never been quite like his companions.

Some whispered among themselves that the Saint had been a royal babe, that his mother had been a beautiful princess, from the fair green isle of Erin. She, poor princess, had lost her crown and all her jewels. Worse had befallen her, for cruel men had dragged her to the market-place and sold her as a slave.

Others there were who cried that the barefooted shepherd lad had been no royal babe, nor was he of Irish birth. His home had been in the wild Border counties. With those blue eyes, that golden hair, how could he have been ought but Saxon? Why, his very name had a true old Saxon ring. Yes, their beloved Saint had been a little English lad.

So the old folks talked. But history does not tell us the birthplace of St. Cuthbert, nor if he were born in a palace or in a peasant's hut. We know only that when he was about eight years old both his father and mother were dead.

The little orphan boy was left alone with his nurse, an old woman who lived in a cottage on the Lammermoor hills. So kind was the old woman to her little charge that when he was grown up he never forgot her.

In summer-time Cuthbert was up with the dawn, wandering over the hills, making friends with birds and beasts. It was dusk before he found his way back to the cottage.

But in winter, when the snow fell fast, or the wind blew fierce, he could not roam. So he drew his little chair close to the clean-swept hearth, and while shadows flickered on the wall, his old nurse told him tales of the countryside. Rough tales many of them were, of wild, half-savage tribes, that dwelt far off among the mountain passes.

The boy could see the eyes of the warriors gleam as they tracked their foes through lonely glens, over desolate moorlands. Strange figures they seemed to the little lad, with faces and bodies stained with the juice of plants, and poisoned arrows at their side.

But there were other tales of holy saints and kindly monks who toiled and prayed in quiet old monasteries, and these too Cuthbert loved. He dreamed about these godly men in their quiet retreats, until he fell asleep in his little chair by the hearth.

Cuthbert grew up strong and brave as any lad in all the countryside. He was fond of games, yet sometimes he would slip away from his comrades, and throwing himself down on the side of the green hill, he would peer into the future. Would he be a soldier and fight for his country, the lad wondered, or a monk, like those who dwelt yonder in the old monastery of Mailros. Then his eyes would wander to the valley and follow the twistings of the river Tweed. They would linger at length on the monastery, where it stood guarded by tall pine trees, that looked from the distance like sentinels.

"Come and play with us," cried his playmates, breaking rudely into his dreams. But at such times Cuthbert paid no heed to their entreaties.

The old folks talked of his pranks in after days, as though they had never been played by other boys. They had seen him walking on his hands, standing on his head and turning somersaults so skillfully, that his companions clapped their hands. But surely these were feats that any boy might do. One strange tale the old folks did tell and it was this:

Once as Cuthbert was wrestling with his companions in a meadow, a little unknown child of three years old ran up to them.

The boys flung themselves apart and stared in astonishment at the tiny stranger. He, looking at none save Cuthbert, said in a grave tone, "Why will you spend your time in idle games, O Cuthbert?"

Cuthbert wished to go on playing, so he only smiled on the child, as he called to his comrades to begin their game afresh. Then the little stranger, seeing that Cuthbert paid no attention to his words, flung himself on the ground and sobbed aloud.

The boys had kind hearts hidden beneath ways that were sometimes rough, so they ceased their game when they saw the child's tears and tried to comfort him.

But he sobbed on, heedless of them all, until Cuthbert came and stooped over him. Then once more he spoke in the same grave tone: "Why will you behave so foolishly, O Cuthbert? It becomes you not to sport among children, you whom the Lord hath consecrated."

Cuthbert forgot his game. He must find out by whom the child had been sent. But even as he said in an eager voice, "Tell me whose messenger you are?" the tiny stranger rose and running swiftly across the meadow was seen no more.

The boys were soon playing as gaily as before, all save Cuthbert. He could not forget the strange words, the tearful face of the little messenger. Such was the strange tale the old folk told when Cuthbert had become a saint.

Meanwhile the lad was tending his sheep on the grassy slopes of Lammermoor.

What a glorious world it was, thought Cuthbert. Far below him lay the valley, with hamlets and cottages that looked like tiny dots from where he stood upon the hillside.

The winding waters of the river Tweed made him long to wander down to the plain, but he could not leave his sheep although the river called. So he lay and watched it as it twisted and curved and twisted again, until he learned to love the magic windings of the Tweed.

How he loved too the tall, dark pines that stood near the monastery. It was in their mysterious shades, so his old nurse used to tell him, that the ancient gods were worshipped with charms and amulets and magic songs.

But Cuthbert was not left alone with his sheep and his dreams. For the boys from the valley would often clamber up the grass-covered hills, and they would wrestle and fight and race as growing boys delight to do.

It was at night, while the stars shone down upon him, as he watched his sheep, that Cuthbert saw strange sights.

The valley lay quiet in the starlight, and the shepherd lad could catch a glimpse of the monastery of Mailros, or Melrose as we call it now. He knew just where it lay in a little grassy glade, encircled by the tall trees of the forest.

Although it was night Cuthbert was sure that in his cell the holy Abbot Eata would be awake, kneeling in prayer before the great crucifix that hung upon the wall. Then he, alone on the silent hills, also knelt to pray. When he arose he thought that some day he would serve God as did the Abbot of Mailros. Like him he would dwell in the old monastery, leaving it at times to carry the gospel from the coast of Berwick to the Solway Firth.

He would journey through the mountain passes where men and women still lived half savage lives, to tell them of the gentleness of Christ. He would be kind too to the shepherd lads, as the holy Eata had been kind to him. Thus under the starlit skies did Cuthbert dream.

Then, one summer, in the month of August, 651 A.D., Cuthbert saw a marvellous sight.

It was dark and the boy had wandered from the mountain track, when far off on the horizon he saw a gleam of light. Brighter and brighter it grew, until it seemed a shining pathway to the skies. And lo! down the pathway sped white-robed angels on their way to earth. Why had the angels left the Paradise of God, Cuthbert wondered as he gazed.

Soon he saw the angels climbing upward once more, and in their arms they bore a radiant soul. Scarce knowing what he did the boy began to move toward the light, but even as he did so it faded away.

Then in the darkness Cuthbert knelt to pray that he might live so that one day his soul too might be carried up the shining pathway of the skies.

When the morning dawned, Cuthbert heard that in his quiet cell the night before the Bishop of Lindisfarne had breathed his last. Then he knew that it was for the soul of the holy Bishop that the angels had come to earth.

A few days later, the shepherd lad made up his mind to go to the monastery at Mailros and ask Eata to train him as a monk.

But Eata wished to prove the lad, and as these were rough times in the Border counties, he sent Cuthbert away to serve God as a soldier until more peaceful days dawned. Then he might return to dwell in the monastery if he willed.

So Cuthbert rode away to seek his country's foes. Over rough mountain passes he journeyed, or sailed along the wild sea coast, helping the weak and those who had none other to fight for them.

Sometimes he was mocked by foolish folk, sometimes he was without food, but he learned to endure hardships as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.