e a message sayin' she was in the hospital, dyin' from
an accident, an' wanted to see me right away. I didn't let the grass
grow under my feet you may be sure, an' before long I stood beside the
bed where she was lyin', her poor, pale face all drawn with sufferin'.
I've called her a hero for the life she'd led, an' her end was sure
enough a hero's end. That afternoon a child had started to run across
the street at the corner where Mona's apple-stand was. He didn't see the
horse an' team that come tearin' up the street, an' the driver was too
busy lashin' the horse to see the child. In spite of her rheumatism,
Mona dashed in front of the team, and with a quick shove, sent the child
flyin' out of harm's away. He rolled over an' over on the street, but
beyond a scratch or two wasn't hurt. But Mona fell an' the team passed
over her ankles crushin' both of 'em badly. Her age an' the shock,
together with her injury, made 'em sure she couldn't live long. The
chaplain had been sent for, they told me, an' would come at any moment
now.

"She was sleepin' when I reached her, so I sat down beside the bed an'
waited. The priest come an' stood lookin' down at her, an' the kindness
an' pity on his face was wonderful to see. He looked at me an' I fair
jumped out of my chair with the shock his eyes sent through me.

"'Glory be to God!' I says, blessin' myself, for I was all a tremble
with the fright of it. 'Sure it's Michael Conners himself come back from
the dead.'

"That very minute Mona's eyes opened slowly an' fixed themselves on the
priest's face. A smile that brought the tears to my eyes, it was that
beautiful, crossed her face an' she held out her thin, white hand to
him, whisperin', 'Michael.' Then she closed her eyes again an' was off
unconscious once more.

"The priest looked first at her, then at me, an' his face was all
puzzled an' amazed like.

"'How do you know that my name is Michael Conners?' says he.

"'How do you know it yourself, Father?' says I, for I had my suspicions
by that time.

"'Because of this,' says he, showin' me a strangely carved little black
wooden crucifix attached to his beads. 'This was on my neck when I was
saved from the wreck in which my father an' mother perished.'

"'Well,' says I, 'you're wrong. 'Tain't Michael, but Gerald, is your
name, an' praise be the Lord but this'll be the happy day for my poor
Mona when she finds out the truth. That crucifix with the name of
Michael Conners on i