scoutmaster this
day. No, no. There'll be nothin' more than a tongue-lashin', so breathe
easy, lad dear!"

"But Mister Perkins won't come any more!" argued Johnnie, plaintively.
"And so how'll I finish learnin' t' be a scout? Oh, Father Pat!"

While the next hour went by, it was an anxious little figure that sat
opposite the priest, listening, listening--for some loud angry words out
of the area, or heavy steps upon the stairs. That entrance below could
not be seen from the window. And Johnnie could not bring himself to go
down. One o'clock came and passed. But Mr. Perkins did not come. So,
undoubtedly, Big Tom had seen the scoutmaster. But whatever had
happened, all had been quiet. That was some consolation.

"It's funny about my friends," observed Johnnie at last. He shook a
discouraged head. "Some way, I never have more'n one at a time."

The Father set about cheering him up. "Ah-ha, now, and let's not worry a
bit more!" he urged. "Shure, and I've climbed up here this day t' ask ye
a question, which is: if Father Pat was t' say t' ye that he'd bring ye
a new book the next time he chanced by, why, then, little lover o'
readin', just what kind o' a book would ye best like t' have?"

Here was something to coax the mind away from concern! "Oh, my!" said
Johnnie. "_Another_ book? A _new_ one?" Getting up to think about his
answer, he chanced to glance out of the window. And instantly he knew
what he should like. "Oh, Father Pat!" he cried. "Has--has anybody ever
made up a book about the stars?"

"The stars!" the Father cried back. "Shure, lad dear, certain gentlemen
called astronomers have been writin' about the stars for hundreds o'
years. And they've named the whole lot! And weighed and measured 'em,
Johnnie,--think o' the impudence o' that! Yes, and they've weighed the
Sun, and taken the measure o' the Moon! Also, there's the comets,
which're called after the men who first find 'em. And, oh, think what
it's like t' have yer name tied t' the tail o' a comet for a million
years! Ho-ho! ho-ho! That's an honor! Ye never own the comet, still 'tis
yours!"

"My! I'd like t' find a Johnnie Smith comet!" declared Johnnie. "And
after all"--solemnly--"I think I won't try t' be President; nope, I'll
be a 'stronomer."

"Faith," rejoined the Father, the green eyes shining roguishly, "and
there's points o' resemblance 'twixt the two callin's. Both o' them, if
I ain't mistaken, are calculated t' keep a conscientious man awak