Slowly, solemnly, he prayed. "Our Father . . . who art in heaven, . . .

hallowed be Thy name; . . . Thy kingdom come; . . . _Thy . . . will . . .

be . . . done . . ._ on earth as it is in heaven. . . . Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespa.s.ses, . . . as we forgive those who trespa.s.s against us. . . . And lead us not into temptation; . . . but deliver us from evil. . . . Amen."

There was a pause--a long pause. Frank thought it was a new prayer. He had never realized all that it meant. It seemed the best sermon he had ever heard. He felt now that he could bow his head to anything that G.o.d asked of him and say "Thy will be done." The priest arose, and the others with him.

The mother's face was changed. There was the peace of G.o.d on her countenance. In the presence of her dying son, she had the exaltation of Mary at the foot of the Cross. Mr. Daly stood stunned. In a few minutes he too showed a calm face. Father Boone was the first to break the silence.

"If G.o.d wants your boy, Mrs. Daly, let Him have him. If you asked Willie for something you would want him to give it to you. If it was hard for him to give, you would know he loved you when he gave it. If G.o.d asks you for Willie, show Him you love Him. And now good-bye.

"It is late, Frank. You had better come along with me," he added, looking toward him. They made their parting as consoling as possible and left.

Later, as they struck the Avenue, and were going along in silence, Father Boone began to speak--half to himself, half to Frank. "I suppose you wondered that I talked to them as though Bill's death were a certainty? Well, from my experience, I think it is. If I were sure of being present when he dies, I would not have antic.i.p.ated. But suppose he goes off tonight, and no one is there but themselves! They have something now to sustain them.

"Our Faith is a wonderful thing. People outside know nothing of the comfort and strength it brings in affliction. There may be some excuses for a fellow when he is young, and healthy, and well-off, to say he has no use for religion. But the whole world isn't young, nor in health, nor rich. Most people have ills of one kind or another. Some are poor, some in ill-health, some old, or misunderstood. So our Lord chose poverty and suffering. He did not want better treatment than His followers were to have.

"When anything hard happens to me, I try to bear it cheerfully, and tell myself I should be ashamed to have better treatment than My Lord. And I've had some pretty tough things. I don't show it, but your hair would stand straight up if I were to tell you some of the things I've gone through. And do you know, when I have something terribly hard to endure, I take a positive pleasure in kneeling before the altar and saying to G.o.d: 'This costs me a lot, Lord, but I am glad it does, for I have something worth while to offer Thee'." He heaved a deep sigh.

"Frank, excuse me for talking about myself. Just thinking aloud. You see, that afflicted mother and father bring out serious reflections."

By now they had reached the rectory. "Good bye, Frank," said the priest.

"Good bye, Father," answered Frank, grasping the priest's hand very firmly.

As Frank went on his way, he said to himself, "Gee, now I know where he gets his power. When he prays, he prays. No wonder he does so much good, and so quietly. No one knows anything about it unless by accident."

(IV)

At the hospital, Daly was sinking fast. The doctor came in frequently.

And then, as often happens shortly before death, the delirium terminated for awhile. Bill looked up and saw his father and mother standing over him. It took him some seconds to realize where he was. It all came back to him in a rush. He also felt very weak. He had never felt like this before. Something told him he was going to die.

In a low voice he said to his father, "Pop, I guess I am wanted up there. I'm sorry for all I've done. I know you'll be good to ma." A pause. "Ma, it's hard to go and leave you, but Dad will take care of you like he used to, when I was a kid. That'll make up." Another pause. "Pa, ma, make the Act of Contrition with me." They knelt at his side, made the sign of the cross, and he said, falteringly but clearly:

"O my G.o.d! I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of h.e.l.l, but most of all because they offend Thee, my G.o.d, who art all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen."

He fell back exhausted, from his slightly raised position.

In a little while he said, "Ma, I want Father Boone and Frank." The mother knew that the priest was rushed day and night, and hesitated to call him. Then she remembered that Father Boone had said, "If he returns to consciousness, be sure and send for me."

While she was thinking how best to do so, Mr. Roberts entered the room.

He took in the situation at a glance. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked. On learning of Bill's request, he said, "My machine is here. I'll run up for Father Boone and the boy, and have them here in no time," and off he went.

Mother and father held either hand of their darling. Not a word was uttered. In about ten minutes, the door opened and Father Boone and Frank appeared. Bill recognized the priest, and said with an effort, "I am----so glad----to see----you----Father. I want to go to confession.

Then I'll go home." Mr. Roberts, who was not a Catholic, found tears running down his cheeks. Mr. Daly was sobbing.

"I shall have to ask you all to leave the room for a few minutes," said the priest, and as they filed out, he put on his sacred stole, and blessed the boy. Then bending over him, he heard Bill's confession.

Bill told him everything. He wanted to go into details, but the priest, to whom a single word meant volumes, quieted him and allowed him to say only what was absolutely necessary. When his confession was made, the priest took out a crucifix and pointing to it, said, "He came for us, for us who offended Him. He is more glad to forgive you than you are to receive forgiveness. Make your act of contrition, and I shall p.r.o.nounce G.o.d's absolution. Speak from your heart as to Christ on the Cross. He sees your repentance. He will heal you and make you His dear child."

As the dying lad was saying his words of sorrow for sin, the priest was p.r.o.nouncing absolution. "May Almighty G.o.d have mercy on you and forgive you your sins and bring you to life everlasting, Amen. May the Almighty and Merciful Lord grant you pardon, absolution and remission of all your sins. Amen. May Our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you, and I, by His Authority, do absolve you from every stain of sin. I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. May the Pa.s.sion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the merits of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of all the Saints, whatever good you have done and whatever suffering you have borne, make for the forgiveness of your sins, for an increase of grace, and for the reward of life eternal.

Amen."

Father Boone arose, opened the door and bade all come in. "All please kneel down," he said, "I am going to give William, Holy Viatic.u.m." They all knelt, including Mr. Roberts. Before the priest administered the sacred rite, he turned to the boy and said,

"My child, I am bringing to you Our Lord Himself, to be your friend and companion. Speak your heart to Him." Then administering the Blessed Sacrament, he said,

"Receive, my child, the Holy Viatic.u.m, the Body of Our Lord Jesus Christ. May He guard you against the evil one and conduct you to life everlasting. Amen."

The boy received the Sacred Host with intense reverence and joy. He crossed his arms in prayer. After a short while, he turned to his mother and said, "G.o.d wants me, mother."

She responded, "The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

The father came over to his son, and taking his hand kissed it, saying with a voice of suppressed emotion, "Good-bye, Willie, pray for your poor old Dad."

"Good-bye, Dad. A kiss."

His eyes caught Frank kneeling beside the bed and he faintly smiled at him.

Then, to his mother, "Good-bye, Ma."

She kissed his forehead tenderly. He looked up a moment, and closed his eyes. Father Boone and Frank were just saying, "Holy Mary, Mother of G.o.d, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death," when the mother gave a gasp and said, "My Willie is dead!"

(V)

On the way home an hour later, Frank and the priest walked for a while in silence. Each had his own thoughts. In an indefinable way, the priest showed a marked respect for the boy. He understood all now, "A truly n.o.ble boy," he kept saying to himself. But Frank occupied only a part of his thoughts. The mysterious ways of G.o.d's Providence furnished him food for reflection. "A soul saved, a life lost," he said to himself, as he considered the reform of Mr. Daly and the death of Bill.

Frank, too, had his thoughts. His tired head was full of all he had seen and heard of Bill's life and family. Bill was a "victim of circ.u.mstances." "What if my father had been like his?" he asked himself.

"I have never thanked G.o.d enough for my good father and mother." Then he was glad both for Bill's sake and for his own that Bill had gone to confession. In his own relief at knowing that the strain of misunderstanding was ended for both himself and Father Boone, he expected the priest momentarily, to refer to the subject. When they had gone a distance in silence, Frank burst out--the first words between them since leaving the hospital.

"Father, you know all about it now!"

"All about what, Frank?"

"Why, didn't he tell you . . . about the . . ." here he stopped. The priest gave him a look that startled him. "O, I beg your pardon, Father, I forgot it was confessional."

From that moment the subject never came up again. But Frank knew in his heart that he was cleared. It would not matter now, no matter what happened. The subject never came up again, but in a thousand ways, from that night on, Frank realized that Father Boone was his dearest and best friend.

Switching the conversation, Father Boone said, "Our prayers for Daly tomorrow will be for his welfare beyond, not here."

"It will be a great shock to the fellows, Father," said Frank.

"Yes, doubtless. Death always is. And the death of a boy especially."

"Why, Father?"

"Well, I suppose because we don't expect the young to die. It seems out of place. But G.o.d calls at all hours. After all, it's only a question of a few years, more or less. We all go sooner or later. The great thing is not the going, but the manner of it--to live in such a way that whenever G.o.d calls, we are ready. Then, it's all one,--for compared with eternity, the longest life is but a fraction of a second. Not even that."