to the eyes of the good father.

And he said in his heart: "Alas! I have been too much in the world of
men, and now a child can teach me."

The musical voice of the boy began:

"Morgantown,
"R. F. D. No. 4.

"SON PIERRE:

"Here I lie with a chunk of lead from the gun of Bob McGurk resting
somewheres in the insides of me, and there ain't no way of doubting
that I'm about to go out. Now, I ain't complaining none. I've had my
fling. I've eat my meat to order, well done and rare--mostly rare.
Maybe some folks will be saying that I've got what I've been asking
for, and I know that Bob McGurk got me fair and square, shooting from
the hip. That don't help me none, lying here with a through ticket to
some place that's farther south than Texas."

Pierre lowered the letter and looked gravely upon Father Victor.

"There are blasphemies coming. Shall I read on?"

"Yes."

He began again, a little spot of red coming into either cheek:

"Hell ain't none too bad for me, I know. I ain't whining none. I just
lie here and watch the world getting dimmer until I begin to be seeing
things out of my past. That shows the devil ain't losing no time with
me. But the thing that comes back oftenest and hits me the hardest is
the sight of your mother, lying with you in the hollow of her arm and
looking up at me and whispering, 'Dad,' just before she went out."

The hand of the boy fell, and his wide eyes sought the face of Father
Victor. The latter was standing.

"You told me I had no father--"

An imperious arm stretched toward him.

"Give me the letter."

He moved to obey, and then checked himself.

"This is my father's writing, is it not?"

"No, no! It's a lie, Pierre!"

But Pierre stood with the letter held behind his back, and the first
doubt in his life stood up darkly in his eyes. Father Victor sank
slowly back into his chair. All his gaunt frame was trembling.

"Read on," he commanded.

And Pierre, white of face, read on:

"So I got a idea that I had to write to you, Pierre. There ain't
nothing I can make up to you, but knowing the truth may help some.
Poor kid, you ain't got no father in the eyes of the law, and neither
did you have no mother, and there ain't no name that belongs to you by
rights."

Father Anthony veiled his eyes, but the bright starved eyes of Jean
Paul Victor stared on at the reader. His voice was lower now, and the
lips moved slowly, as though numb with cold: