owed a marked respect for the boy. He understood all now, "A truly
noble boy," he kept saying to himself. But Frank occupied only a part of
his thoughts. The mysterious ways of God's Providence furnished him food
for reflection. "A soul saved, a life lost," he said to himself, as he
considered the reform of Mr. Daly and the death of Bill.

Frank, too, had his thoughts. His tired head was full of all he had seen
and heard of Bill's life and family. Bill was a "victim of
circumstances." "What if my father had been like his?" he asked himself.
"I have never thanked God enough for my good father and mother." Then he
was glad both for Bill's sake and for his own that Bill had gone to
confession. In his own relief at knowing that the strain of
misunderstanding was ended for both himself and Father Boone, he
expected the priest momentarily, to refer to the subject. When they had
gone a distance in silence, Frank burst out--the first words between
them since leaving the hospital.

"Father, you know all about it now!"

"All about what, Frank?"

"Why, didn't he tell you . . . about the . . ." here he stopped. The
priest gave him a look that startled him. "O, I beg your pardon, Father,
I forgot it was confessional."

From that moment the subject never came up again. But Frank knew in his
heart that he was cleared. It would not matter now, no matter what
happened. The subject never came up again, but in a thousand ways, from
that night on, Frank realized that Father Boone was his dearest and best
friend.

Switching the conversation, Father Boone said, "Our prayers for Daly
tomorrow will be for his welfare beyond, not here."

"It will be a great shock to the fellows, Father," said Frank.

"Yes, doubtless. Death always is. And the death of a boy especially."

"Why, Father?"

"Well, I suppose because we don't expect the young to die. It seems out
of place. But God calls at all hours. After all, it's only a question of
a few years, more or less. We all go sooner or later. The great thing is
not the going, but the manner of it--to live in such a way that
whenever God calls, we are ready. Then, it's all one,--for compared with
eternity, the longest life is but a fraction of a second. Not even
that."

They soon reached the rectory. "Good-bye, Frank, my good boy Frank," and
the priest gave him a hand shake that almost made him yell.

"Good-bye, Father."

And when in later years Frank recalled that night, he marvelled that o