e o'
nights!"

"I'll be awful glad t' have a star-book," decided Johnnie. "Thank y' for
it."

The priest smiled fondly at the ragged little figure silhouetted against
the window. "Shure, and that's the book I'll be buying for ye," he
promised. "And in the crack o' a hen's thumb!"

The Father ended his visit to the building by going upstairs, which fact
Johnnie knew because of the walking around he could hear overhead, and
the chair scrapings. But before Father Pat left the Barber flat Johnnie
told him about going up on the roof (though he did not confess that Cis
knew about it, or that he had bought her silence with the toothbrush).
His new friend listened without a word of blame, only looking a trifle
grave. "And what do ye think ye ought t' do for Madam, the janitress?"
he asked when Johnnie had finished his admission. "For as I see it,
she's the one entitled t' complain."

"I'll tell y'," answered Johnnie, earnestly; "I've swept off the roof
twice, good's I could, and I've swept the stairs that go up t' the roof.
And once I swept this hall."

"A true scout!" pronounced the Father. "And I'm not doubtin' that if
ye'd promise t' go on doin' the same, Madam'd be glad t' let ye go up.
Suppose ye try the suggestion."

Johnnie promised to try.

Late that afternoon the saddest thing happened: the roses died. They had
been looking sick, and not at all like themselves, since before
noontime. As Johnnie, preparing to set his supper table, lifted the
quart milk bottle which held the bouquet, intending again to place it on
Cis's dressing-box, the flowers, with a sound that was almost like a
soft sigh, showered their crumpling petals upon the oilcloth. Shocked,
Johnnie set the bottle quickly down. But only seventeen bare stalks were
left in it. The last sweet leaf had dropped.

He stood for a little looking down. The first shock past, his whole
being became alive with protest. Oh, why should beautiful flowers ever
have to die? It was wrong! And there swept over him the hated
realization that an end comes to things. He could have wept then, but he
knew that scout boys do not give way to tears. For the first time in his
life he was understanding something of life's prime tragedy--change.
Girls grow up, dolls go out of favor, roses fade.

He could not bear to throw the petals away. Very gently he gathered them
up in his two hands and put them into a shallow crockery dish, and
sprinkled them with a little cool water. "Gee!