o confession next Saturday night and
receive Holy Communion on Sunday," said the priest. "You do your part,
and God will do His. You have given Him no opportunity to help you these
past years. You have kept away from Him, your best Friend and Helper."

"Never again," said Daly, firmly.

"Straighten up now," said the priest, "and come to see me Monday
morning. I'll have a job for you by that time. Here's a few dollars to
get some clothes. You can pay me back when you have it to spare.
Good-bye."

For sometime after the priest went away, they spoke not a word. They
could not, for something seemed to lodge in their throats. When Mrs.
Daly found that she could use her voice, she went to a little box on the
bureau, kept carefully in the midst of all the confusion, and taking out
her rosary of the Blessed Virgin, she went over to her husband and son
and said, "And now let us thank her." They knelt down, said the beads
and finished with the prayer:

"Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness and our
hope; to thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve; to thee do we
send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn
then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after
this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O
clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary."

There is joy even in heaven over a sinner that doth penance.

(IV)

The effects of Father Boone's visit at the Daly home began to show at
once; the father, mother and son were transformed. Michael Daly spoke of
it first. "I've not had a day's luck since I've been away from the
Church, and I'm going to get back."

"O Blessed Mother, do you hear him?" exclaimed Mrs. Daly. "Holy Mary,
pray for us sinners now."

"I've had my last drink, so help me!" continued Daly. "I've said it
often before, and gone back to the dirty stuff. But something new has
come into my life. Father Boone's words burned right into my soul. And
every word he said was true, so help me!"

All the while, Bill was wondering. Could it be real? It all seemed so
new to him. For eight years he had heard nothing but blasphemy and
abuse from his father, and here he was now, talking and acting like a
man. Was it a reality? He could hardly believe his senses. But there was
his father arm and arm with his mother. That certainly was real. It was
years since he had seen anything like that before. The sight, so
unusual, began to ov