y
esteemed each other. Father Boone had often stopped her in the street to
tell her what a fine boy Frank was. And Frank was never tired talking
about Father Boone, admiring him for this and for that, but mainly for
himself.

Nothing was said by mother or son on the important topic until Frank was
leaving the house to go to school. Then, as he kissed her, he said,
"Mother, I want you to promise me something."

"Very well, dear."

"Remember now, it's a promise."

"Certainly, Frank."

"Well, mother, I want you to promise that you won't say anything about
what I've told you and that you will not let Father Boone know I told
you. Even if you should meet him _accidentally_," he said slyly, "you
are not to let on."

She hesitated a moment.

"You promised, Mother. It's too late now to consider," he urged.

"Well, just as you say, dear," she answered. And she felt that perhaps
it was better to let the matter adjust itself, after all. "True love
never runs smoothly," she mused, "and I am sure Father Boone and Frank
are very fond of each other."

When Frank got back to school and mingled with the boys, the peace of
the night before and his mother's assurances all seemed to vanish. He
could not see any justice in the way Father Boone had acted.

"It was entirely unfair," he kept thinking. "The whole thing was out of
measure with the fault. After all, a scrap is a scrap. Lots of fellows
fight and make up and it's all over. I made up with Daly, or at least I
tried to. Why should the crowd be punished for one or two? I know what
I'll do. I'll go straight to Father Boone this evening and tell him the
whole thing. Then if he wants to, he can punish me, not the whole
crowd."

Meanwhile, in his room at the rectory, Father Boone too was considering
the same subject. "Boys are not ingrates, as a rule," he reflected.
"True, they may be thoughtless and impulsive, but I have generally found
them appreciative. But there is Mulvy,--straight and open as he usually
is,--and he hasn't offered a word of explanation. He had his chance,
when I sent for him to post that notice but--not a word. And he surely
saw I was indignant. It's not like him. What can it be? Is he afraid of
the crowd? Hardly. But I can't get away from that wholesale disorder and
breakage--the work of a mob. Those boys seem to care for me--but--they
know how this kind of thing affects me. They've had two days to reflect.
Not one boy to say a word! It is not the thing