inutes all would be well. That two minutes
were the greatest of the priest's life. Into them centered every bit
of intensity, earnestness and enthusiasm he possessed. He rapidly
skipped part of his sermon and came to the burst of appeal, with which
he was to close. The people could see him tremble in every limb. His
face was as white as his surplice. His eyes were wide open and
shining as if he were deeply moved by his own pleadings. He quickly
descended the steps of the altar and advanced to the railing. The
congregation did not dare to take its eyes away from him. The noise of
the departing children fell upon unheeding ears. The intensity of the
man had been transferred to his listeners. A whispered 'all right'
reached the priest from the lips of the Sacristan behind, and Father
Collins stopped. His voice dropped back to the tone with which he
began his discourse. It was a soft, musical voice, that people till
now did not know he possessed.

"My friends," he said, "keep your seats for a moment. Those in the
front pews will go out quietly now. Let one pew empty at a time. Do
not crowd. There is no danger, at present, but a fire has broken out
below, and we want to take every precaution for safety."

"Stop," he thundered, and his voice went up again. "You, who are
leaving from the center of the church, remain in your seats. Do not
start a rush. Do not worry about the children, they are all out. Look
at the galleries. They are empty. The children were cool. Do not let
the little ones shame you. Now, give the old and feeble a chance."

With voice and gesture, he directed the movement of the people, and
then, the church emptied, he looked toward the vestry door. The
Sacristan was there.

"Hurry, Father," he called, tearing off his cassock. "The floor here
may give way any moment. Father Grady has the Blessed Sacrament.
Hurry!"

They were out before the floor fell and the flames burst into the big
church, which, poor old relic of the days of wood, went down into the
ashes of destruction.

Mr. O'Brien of 32 Chestnut street walked home with Dr. Reilly, but
neither of them had much to say. Both paused at the corner where their
ways parted.

Then Mr. O'Brien spoke: "What did you think of the sermon, Doc?"

"I think," said the doctor, deliberately, "that though it cost us the
price of a new church, 'twas well worth it."

THE YANKEE TRAMP

They were old cronies, M. le Cure de St. Eustace and M. le Cure de
St