igh Mass upon him, was installed in Father
Collins' favorite chair, when the owner of it entered.

"Come in, come in, Collins, come in to your own house," the first
assistant called. "Come in, man, and be at home. I couldn't sleep, so
I had to get up and wait around, hungry enough; but," he had caught
the expression on his friend's face, "what is the matter?"

"Oh, nothing much, nothing much," replied Father Collins, "only I see
the whole parish is turning out to-day for the eight o'clock Mass. The
O'Briens and Doctor Reilly have just gone in. You know, they always go
to High Mass."

"Which," remarked Father Grady, "is no compliment either to my
singing, or your Eminence's preaching, or to both."

"Oh, your singing is all right," assured Father Collins.

"Well," said Father Grady, "I accept the correction. I am a modest
man, but I must acknowledge that I can sing--at least, relatively
speaking, for I haven't very much to compete against. However, if it
is not my singing, then it must be your preaching."

"It is, it is," answered his friend, with just a touch of shakiness in
his voice. "Look here Grady, you know I made a good course in the
Seminary. You know I am not an ignoramus and you know that I work
hard. I prepare every sermon and write it out; when the manuscript is
finished I know it by heart. Now, here is the sermon for to-day. Look
at it and if you love me, read it. Tell me what is wrong with it."

Father Grady took the papers and began to look them over, while Father
Collins picked up a book and pretended to be interested in it. In
truth, he was glancing at his companion very anxiously over the top,
until the manuscript had been laid down.

"My dear Collins, you are right," said Father Grady. "It is a good
sermon. I wish I could write one half as good. There is absolutely
nothing wrong with it."

"But," urged Father Collins, "I shall spoil it."

"Well," said his friend, "candor compels me to acknowledge that you
probably shall. I don't know why. Can't you raise your voice? Can't
you have courage? The people won't bite you. You can talk well enough
to the school children. You can talk well enough to me. Why can't you
stand up and be natural? Just be yourself and talk to them as you talk
to us. That is the whole secret."

"It is my nervousness, Grady," said Father Collins. "I am afraid the
minute I enter the church to preach. When I open my mouth, I lose my
voice out of fear. That is what it is--fea