dows the deep solemn throb of
the organ pealed. The soul of the Boy rose enchanted on new wings whose
power he had never dreamed. Hidden depths were sounded of whose
existence he could not know. There was no organ in the little bare log
church the Baptists had built near his father's farm in Mississippi. His
father and mother were Baptists and of course he was going to be a
Baptist some day. But why didn't they have stained glass windows like
those through which he saw the light now streaming--wonderful flashing
lights, whose colors seemed to pour from the soul of the organ. And why
didn't they have a great organ?

He was going to like these Roman Catholics. He wondered what his mother
would say to that?

It all seemed so familiar, too. Where had he heard those bells? Where
had he heard the peal of that organ and seen the flash of those gorgeous
lights? In the sky at sunset perhaps, and in the rumble of the storm.
Maybe in dreams--and now they had come true.

In a few months, he found himself the only Protestant boy in school and
the smallest of all the scholars. The monks were kind. They seemed
somehow to love him better than the others. Father Wallace reminded him
of his big brother. He was so gentle.

The Boy made up his mind to join the Catholic Church and went straight
to Father Wilson, the venerable head of the college.

The old man smiled pleasantly:

"And why do you wish this, my son?"

"Oh, it's so much more beautiful than the Baptist Church. Besides it's
so much easier--"

"Indeed?"

"Yes, sir. The Baptists have such a hard time getting religion. They
seek and mourn so long--"

"Really?"

"Indeed they do--yes, sir--I've seen stubborn sinners mourn all summer
in three protracted meetings and then not come through!"

"And you don't like that sort of penance?"

"No, sir. I've always dreaded it. And the worst thing is the new
converts have to stand right up in church before all the crowd and tell
their experience out loud. I'd hate that--"

"And you like our ways better?"

"A great deal better. The Catholics manage things so nicely. All you
have to do is to go to church, learn the catechism and the good priests
do all the rest--"

"Oh--I see!"

"Yes, sir."

Father Wilson laid his wrinkled hand tenderly on the Boy's head:

"You are very, very young, my son, and you are growing rapidly. What you
really need is good Catholic food. Sit down and have a piece of bread
and cheese with me."

T