were poured into his ears. Hour after hour
he had spent bestowing the priestly absolution on the repentant sinner,
giving fatherly advice and consolation to the sorrowful, sending all
those troubled souls away lighter and happier for his ministrations.
Hour after hour he had waited, hoping against hope, for the sound of the
one voice above all others which he most desired to hear.

In a town like that which formed Father Xavier's parish, the pastor is
indeed the father of his flock. Every man, woman and child is known to
him personally, and he takes a direct interest in each one's welfare. As
Father Xavier sat that Christmas eve and listened to the confessions of
his people, his heart grew sad and hope gradually died away as he waited
in vain for the voice of one whom he was striving to bring back to God
and to his duty.

The crowd of penitents melted away one by one, the few last stragglers
had been heard, and still the priest waited in his confessional. The boy
might possibly come even yet, his boy whom he had loved with a special
affection ever since he was a tiny little chap first learning his
prayers in the baby class of the Sunday-school. Why was it he had not
been able to hold the boy? Why had he not been able to prevent his
wandering away with bad companions, this absolute neglect of all
religious duties on the part of his boy? Why could he not succeed in
bringing him back again even though the boy had wandered far afield?

Father Xavier had hoped much from this Christmas eve, for Tim had
promised faithfully to make his confession and to start anew in the path
from which his feet had strayed. Tim had promised it as his Christmas
gift to the Father. Yes, Tim had promised, but Tim had broken his
promise.

With a sigh of utter weariness, weariness of body, weariness of mind,
Father Xavier rose and left the confessional. He glanced over the
church; it was empty. He glanced towards the altar and his eyes rested
on the sanctuary lamp which appeared to be burning with unwonted
brightness.

The hour was late, much later than he was accustomed to keep the church
open, still he lingered, unwilling to give up a last forlorn hope that
his boy might yet keep his promise. With eyes fixed on the Tabernacle
door, the priest knelt and commenced to recite the rosary, pleading,
pleading for his boy. The joyful mysteries were finished and no one
came; the sorrowful, still no one; finally, the glorious mysteries, and
still th