But why didn't they have stained glass windows like
those through which he saw the light now streaming--wonderful flashing
lights, whose colors seemed to pour from the soul of the organ. And why
didn't they have a great organ?
He was going to like these Roman Catholics. He wondered what his mother
would say to that?
It all seemed so familiar, too. Where had he heard those bells? Where
had he heard the peal of that organ and seen the flash of those gorgeous
lights? In the sky at sunset perhaps, and in the rumble of the storm.
Maybe in dreams--and now they had come true.
In a few months, he found himself the only Protestant boy in school and
the smallest of all the scholars. The monks were kind. They seemed
somehow to love him better than the others. Father Wallace reminded him
of his big brother. He was so gentle.
The Boy made up his mind to join the Catholic Church and went straight
to Father Wilson, the venerable head of the college.
The old man smiled pleasantly:
"And why do you wish this, my son?"
"Oh, it's so much more beautiful than the Baptist Church. Besides it's
so much easier--"
"Indeed?"
"Yes, sir. The Baptists have such a hard time getting religion. They
seek and mourn so long--"
"Really?"
"Indeed they do--yes, sir--I've seen stubborn sinners mourn all summer
in three protracted meetings and then not come through!"
"And you don't like that sort of penance?"
"No, sir.
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