trusting himself to look at the lad-his son -whom at the moment he hated madly. A little farther westward a warm, big hand grasped his shoulder.

"Sullivan-by the holy poker!" "Brosnahan!"

"It's me! My son just telephoned that he is having a bite with some of the young boys that are bound for Pittsburg. And we're both in the same boat, SullivanMike's made up his mind to be a priest. It'll cost money, I guess, but I've got itand, for old friendship's sake, Tim, if you're at all tight in cash, call on meSullivan shivered. There was, for an instant, murder in his heart.

"It's been a long time between drinks," he laughed. "Come!"

The bartender officiating in front of the big mirror draped with green and pink gauze said that that it was a sight for sore eyes to see Tim Sullivan throwing down four fingers of whiskey over and over again without a whimper.

The mother and son waited until midnight; and later, Catherine came into her boy's room in the darkness and told John that his father had come home sick.

She went down into the back room, and held the candle over the swollen eyelids of her husband. They did not move. He sprawled upon the cherished chenille-covered lounge, inert, helpless, filling the air with the odor of alcohol.

"Nothing you can do can ever hurt me

now," she said, feeling as if this man were far away from her. "I have him now; he is all mine and Ged's!"

She recalled only the sufferings of her married life, as she stood there, half contemptuous, half pitying.

"He can never be like this-his face can never look like this! The grace of the priesthood is already about him."

Sullivan stole off to early mass in the morning; and then he waited at a distance until he saw Catherine, in her best lawn gown and purple and black hat, pass with John to high mass. John had grown, he could see that. The boy's loose blue coat set well on a pair of shoulders as broad as his; and with pride Sullivan noticed that his son was at least an inch or two taller than his father.

"Priest or no priest," he thought, "Brosnahan's boy will never equal him in looks. Priest! It's not in the Brosnahan blood to be a priest; a Connaught braggart-that's what Brosnahan is! It's a heavy heart Catherine carries the day, in spite of her proud walk, but it will be heavier when she finds out -but she'll never find it out. I'll make a priest of him, in spite of all hell!" Catherine was heavy-hearted; but as She glanced at the lad beside her, stalwart, noble looking, with all the attributes of strength and youth, her thoughts warmed toward his father. At least, he had given her this beautiful being!

The morning light filled the church; the candles on the high altar glowed among the banks of the white and blue iris. Magnolias from the Jersey swamps cast clouds at perfume from the altar of the Sacred Heart at the side, where a red lamp burned. The priest, in his golden chasuble, appeared, preceded by a flock of acolytes in fed cassocks and white surplices. Catherine felt that she loved every one of these lutte lads, from the bullet headed two with chubby cheeks, no higher than the altar tail, to the haughty persons- the Dillon tws destined to kneel upon the steps of the altar and to serve the mass. The Sulhy in pew was well in front, to the left of the micile aisle, and Catherine did not see Rose Koh, in a white chiffon hat, with glowing peat on toses, in a pew near the door.

Lord have mercy on us! Christ have on us!" sang the voices grouped disa the organ, high up at the back

"Kyrie Eleison! Christe Eleison!”—those Greek words that prelude the sacrifice Catherine applied to her husband, beseeching the Lord passionately for him, steeped this morning in mortal sin; but when the "Gloria" came, and at the "Sanctus" she was mystically exalted; and when the celebrant raised the golden chalice and the music was hushed and the glowing figure of the priest was veiled in incense, she felt for an instant that she could understand the humble joy of the blessed among women; she, too, had a son who would go to his Father pure, undefiled! And as she glanced at the boy by her side tears fell upon the words in her prayer-book, "Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in excelsis!”

John saw the tears; the poem of the mass uplifted him; the cry, "Lamb of God, Who taketh away the sins of the world, Give us peace!" touched him to the core. What, after all, was the mysterious bond that drew him, like a flower-chain, to Rose? Here was something more mystic, stronger, the wonderful priest touching heaven itself! His own eyes became moist and a strange hunger filled his heart. Let the world pass; he was called and chosen! A great burst of thrilling music sounded, and the mass was over.

As the mother and son went down the aisle Catherine caught sight of Rose, palpitating with youth and color; the girl's eyes dropped over her white rosary.

"Sure, what is the like of her doing here?" Catherine whispered. "Why doesn't she go to the I-talian church?”

"Mother!" remonstrated her son, offering the holy water.

"Oh," said Catherine, with a laugh, as the church steps were reached, "you take a priest's point of view; it's only the laity that make a difference-dagoes or not dagoes, they're all Christians to you!”

Sullivan was lying on the lounge in the "back room"; he shook hands with his son, but did not kiss him-the Sullivans were, as a rule, not effusive. The father and son were together while the mother looked after the roasting beef in the kitchen. The father averted his eyes and listened to accounts of college life with an interest that he tried hard to conceal.

"You'll be getting ready for the seminary examination, I guess?” the father said at

now," she said, feeling as if this man were far away from her. "I have him now; he is all mine and God's!"

She recalled only the sufferings of her married life, as she stood there, half contemptuous, half pitying.

"He can never be like this-his face can never look like this! The grace of the priesthood is already about him."

Sullivan stole off to early mass in the morning; and then he waited at a distance until he saw Catherine, in her best lawn gown and purple and black hat, pass with John to high mass. John had grown, he could see that. The boy's loose blue coat set well on a pair of shoulders as broad as his; and with pride Sullivan noticed that his son was at least an inch or two taller than his father.

"Priest or no priest," he thought, "Brosnahan's boy will never equal him in looks. Priest! It's not in the Brosnahan blood to be a priest; a Connaught braggart-that's what Brosnahan is! It's a heavy heart Catherine carries the day, in spite of her proud walk, but it will be heavier when she finds out-but she'll never find it out. I'll make a priest of him, in spite of all hell!" Catherine was heavy-hearted; but as she glanced at the lad beside her, stalwart, noble-looking, with all the attributes of strength and youth, her thoughts warmed toward his father. At least, he had given her this beautiful being!

The morning light filled the church; the candles on the high altar glowed among the banks of the white and blue iris. Magnolias from the Jersey swamps cast clouds of perfume from the altar of the Sacred Heart at the side, where a red lamp burned. The priest, in his golden chasuble, appeared, preceded by a flock of acolytes in red cassocks and white surplices. Catherine felt that she loved every one of these little lads, from the bullet-headed two with chubby cheeks, no higher than the altar rail, to the haughty persons-the Dillon twins--destined to kneel upon the steps of the altar and to serve the mass. The Sullivan pew was well in front, to the left of the middle aisle, and Catherine did not see Rose Risoli, in a white chiffon hat, with glowing crimson roses, in a pew near the door.

"Lord have mercy on us! Christ have mercy on us!" sang the voices grouped about the organ, high up at the back

"Kyrie Eleison! Christe Eleison!"—those Greek words that prelude the sacrifice Catherine applied to her husband, beseeching the Lord passionately for him, steeped this morning in mortal sin; but when the "Gloria" came, and at the "Sanctus" she was mystically exalted; and when the celebrant raised the golden chalice and the music was hushed and the glowing figure of the priest was veiled in incense, she felt for an instant that she could understand the humble joy of the blessed among women; she, too, had a son who would go to his Father pure, undefiled! And as she glanced at the boy by her side tears fell upon the words in her prayer-book, "Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in excelsis!”

John saw the tears; the poem of the mass uplifted him; the cry, "Lamb of God, Who taketh away the sins of the world, Give us peace!" touched him to the core. What, after all, was the mysterious bond that drew him, like a flower-chain, to Rose? Here was something more mystic, stronger, the wonderful priest touching heaven itself! His own eyes became moist and a strange hunger filled his heart. Let the world pass; he was called and chosen! A great burst of thrilling music sounded, and the mass was over.

As the mother and son went down the aisle Catherine caught sight of Rose, palpitating with youth and color; the girl's eyes dropped over her white rosary.

"Sure, what is the like of her doing here?" Catherine whispered. "Why doesn't she go to the I-talian church?"

"Mother!" remonstrated her son, offering the holy water.

"Oh," said Catherine, with a laugh, as the church steps were reached, “you take a priest's point of view; it's only the laity that make a difference-dagoes or not dagoes, they're all Christians to you!"

Sullivan was lying on the lounge in the "back room"; he shook hands with his son, but did not kiss him-the Sullivans were, as a rule, not effusive. The father and son were together while the mother looked after the roasting beef in the kitchen. The father averted his eyes and listened to accounts of college life with an interest that he tried hard to conceal.

"You'll be getting ready for the seminary examination, I guess?" the father said at