ike work pre-eminently worthy the
best traditions of the Priesthood.

Even as, earnestly, I pleaded my case, I bore steadily in mind
recollection of that lofty patriotism and brilliant leadership which had
already made Chicago's Archbishop a foremost National Champion. It was
but yesterday that the Secretary of the United States Treasury had
called, personally, to thank and congratulate him on his inspiring
patronage of Loan and Red Cross Drives.

In the sympathetic glow of his face I read approval even before hearing
the formal words of permission.

"Moreover, Father, I will appoint an administrator at once, to care for
the parish during your absence. You will receive, through Father Foley's
office, letters duly accrediting you to Bishop Hayes, Chaplain
Ordinary, and the National authorities."

A fond ambition, long cherished, was about to be realized! I had, of
course, been doing something of a war "bit," co-operating with
parishioners, and town folks like Mayor Gibson and Doctor Noble, in the
various patriotic rallies and drives. Father Shannon of the "New World"
thought so highly of our city's efforts as to visit us and eloquently
say so at a monster Mass Meeting of citizens. "Do you know, George," he
remarked that night as he marched beside me in the street parade, "if I
could only get away, I would gladly go as a Chaplain."

Then I told him my secret, how I had filed my war application some
months before, and had been meanwhile seasoning my body to the
out-of-doors and practicing long hikes.

But a single cloud now remained in the radiant sky of dreams--the
thought of parting! Ten years of residence in so Arcadian a place as
Myrtle Avenue, and in so American a town as Harvey, engender ties of
affection not easily to be sundered. Then, too, the school children, how
one grows to love them, especially when you have given them their first
Sacraments, and even joined in wedlock their parents before them. Of
course for the priest who, more perhaps than any other man, "has not
here a lasting city," whose life is so largely lived for others, and
whose "Holy Orders" so naturally merge with marching orders, the
leave-taking should not have been so trying. Preferable as would have
been

"No moaning of the bar
When I put out to sea,"

the parting that night with the people in the school hall, and again,
the following morning at the depot, was keenly painful--a grief,
however, every soldier was to know, and,