iged to, and to do so for the love of God, is
virtue of a high order."

"You know, Father, Achilles went through something like this, and he
scorned the pleading Greeks. But that was before Christ came."

"Precisely. And look at the nuns and priests of France. Banished from
their country by an infidel government. Yet, when their country was in
need of them they came back from all quarters of the globe to suffer
and, if need be, die for her. That is the effect of Christ in the
world."

"Yes, Father, and do you remember how differently Coriolanus acted? When
he was driven out of Rome, although he was naturally a very noble man,
he led an army against his countrymen for revenge."

"Why, you are quite a historian and philosopher, Frank."

At this point, the door bell rang and it was followed at once by excited
knocking. Frank ran to the door and Gaffney rushed into the room, all
out of breath. Without stopping to see who was there, he poured out his
words in such haste and with such excitement, that he seemed almost
beside himself.

"Mulvy, we're licked....the game is lost....almost lost....They want
you....They want you....Mulvy, they want you!"

Frank looked in amazement at Father Boone. The priest was a picture of
astonishment.

"I've got a machine outside ... the uniform in it ... come along ... the
second half...."

Before he got any further, Frank looked understandingly at Father Boone,
jumped to his feet, and was down stairs like a shot. Into the machine he
rushed, then into the uniform. The car fairly flew along the avenue. By
the time he had his uniform on and his shoes tied, the car was at the
field. Only two minutes remained before the second half.

Bob saw Gaffney running towards the Regal squad, waving his hands, and
shouting, "I've got him, I've got him."

And behind Gaffney, all in playing gear, was Mulvy. Bob let out a yell
that was heard all over the field. Before he had time to tell the cause
of his excitement and jubilation, Gaffney and Mulvy were in the midst of
the squad.

The awkward situation lasted but a second. "You're a brick, Mulvy,"
cried Bob, seizing his hand.

The signal rang for the second half. The coach rushed upon him. The boys
jumped to their feet and made for the field, full of new life and
courage. Each managed to fling him a greeting that told better than
words that they knew they had been wrong and that they were sorry for
what they had done.

"You're all right, old