full of people. The altar was
brilliant with flowers and lights. The sacristy was crowded with boys in
scarlet cassocks and slippers and zuchettos, quarrelling about their
cottas and arguing about their heights. Everybody had a favourite banner
which he wanted to escort and, to complicate matters still further,
everybody had a favourite companion by whose side he wished to walk.

The procession was marshalled before the altar: the organ boomed through
the church: the first thurifer started off, swinging his censer towards
the clouded roof. After him went the cross of ebony and silver, while
one by one at regular intervals between detachments of the choir the
banners of the saints floated into action. Michael escorted the blue
velvet banner of Our Lady, triumphant, crowned, a crescent moon beneath
her feet and round about her stars and Cherubim. The procession was long
enough to fill two aisles at once, and as Michael turned up the south
aisle on the return to the chancel, he saw the pomp of the procession's
rear--the second thurifer, Mr. Prout in a cotta bordered by lace two
feet deep, the golden crucifix aloft, the acolytes with their golden
candlesticks, the blood-red dalmatic and tunicle of the deacon and
sub-deacon, and solemnly last of all the blood-red cope of the
celebrant. Michael took no pleasure in being observed by the
congregation; he was simply elated by the privilege of being able to
express his desire to serve God, and during the Mass, when the Sanctus
bell chimed forth, he raised his torch naturally to the paean of the
salutation. The service was long: the music was elaborate: it was
back-breaking work to kneel on the chancel steps without support; but
Michael welcomed the pain with pleasure. During the Elevation of the
Host, as he bowed his head before the wonder of bread and wine made God,
his brain reeled in an ecstasy of sublime worship. There was a silence
save for the censer tinkling steadily and the low whispered words of the
priest and the click of the broken wafer. The candles burned with a
supernatural intensity: the boys who lately quarrelled over precedence
were hushed as angels: the stillness became fearful; the cold steps
burned into Michael's knees and the incense choked him. At last after an
age of adoration, the plangent appeal of the Agnus Dei came with a
melody that seemed the music of the sobbing world from which all tears
had departed in a clarity of harmonious sound.

Before Michae