been greeted, he turned to his mother:

"Where's Pa?"

"Down in the field with the colts."

"I'll go find him!"

With a bound he was off. He wondered what his silent, undemonstrative
father would do. He had always felt that he was a man of deep emotion
for all his self-control.

He saw him in the field, walked along the edge of the woods, and
suddenly came before him without warning. The father's lips trembled. He
stooped without a word, clasped the Boy in his arms and kissed him again
and again.

The youngster couldn't help wondering why a strong man should kiss so
big a boy. The mother--yes--but his father, a man--no.

It was sweet, this home-coming to those who loved deepest. Somehow the
monastery, its bells, its organ, its jeweled windows, and its kindly
black-robed priests seemed far away and unreal now--only a dream that
had passed.

VI

REBELLION

The mother's breakdown was not allowed to stop the Boy's education. Both
father and older brother were determined on this. They would use the
schools at home now.

He was sent to the County Academy in the fall. The Boy didn't like it.
After the easy life with the kindly old monks at St. Thomas, this
academy was not only cheap and coarse and uninteresting, but the teacher
had no sense. He gave lessons so long and hard it was impossible to
memorize them.

The Boy complained to the teacher. A lesson of the same length was
promptly given again. The rebel showed the teacher he was wrong by
failing to know it.

"I'll thrash you, sir!" was the stern answer.

The Boy would not take that from such a fool. He rose in his wrath, went
home and poured out the indignant story of his wrongs.

The father was a man of few words, but the long silence which followed
gave a feeling of vague uneasiness. He was never dictatorial to his
children, but meant what he said. His voice was quiet and persuasive
when he finally spoke.

"Of course, my son, you will have to choose for yourself whether you
will work with your hands only, or with your head and hands. You can't
be an idler, I need more cotton pickers. You don't like school, try the
cotton, I'll give you work."

The Boy flushed and looked at his father keenly. It was no joke. He
meant exactly what he had said, and a boy with any sand in his gizzard
couldn't back down.

"All right, sir," was the firm answer. "I'll begin in the morning."

He went forth to his task with grim determination. The sun of early