s. There was an old cigar-box
and something heavy rolled in cotton. I thrust the chisel down till I
opened the box. There was no treasure in it at all, but just a lot of
iron-shavings. I felt that I had been fooled and I broke the valise
open. The heavy stuff rolled in the cotton was only a lot of old
coupling-pins from the railroad. I was disgusted with this sinner,
this thief. But it was droll--it was droll--and I could scarcely
sleep with laughing at the whole farce. I know that was sinful. I
should have cried. But he was clever, that Yankee tramp."

[Illustration: "Mon Dieu! It was mine."]

"And the valise? What did you do with it?" asked the hard-hearted Cure
of Ste. Agatha, who must have felt sorry that the friend could be so
easily duped. "What did you do with the valise?"

"I let it go. I knew that he had left it with me and I couldn't
understand why. It was so good--almost new. I felt that the sight of
it would make me hard to the poor who really were deserving. I wanted
to forget how foolish I was, so I gave it to the good Sisters at the
Hospital, to use when they must travel to Sherbrooke."

The Cure of Ste. Agatha was agitated. He plainly wanted to speak but
choked back twice. Then he rose and looked at his friend with a face
as red as fire, and started toward the gate. He took two steps, came
back, and spoke rapidly. "Do you think the Sisters will bring it back,
the valise? _Mon Dieu_! It was mine."

Ten miles from St. Eustace and thirteen miles from Ste. Agatha a
Yankee tramp was hurrying toward the parish of Ste. Catherine. He had
the money for one pick and one shovel in his pocket keeping company
with one note from the purse of the generous Cure of St. Eustace and
one of a much larger denomination, from the wise but hard-hearted
Cure of Ste. Agatha, who never gave to tramps.

And this is the lesson of the story as the Cure of St. Eustace saw it:
that some gloomy and worried millionaires are lost to the States, to
make a few irresponsible but happy rascals who live by their wits, and
whose sins even are amusing. One must not blame them overmuch.

As to the Cure of Ste. Agatha. He has no opinions on the matter at
all, for the Sisters gave him back his new valise.

HOW FATHER TOM CONNOLLY BEGAN TO BE A SAINT

If you knew Father Tom Connolly, you would like him, because--well,
just because Father Tom Connolly was one of the kind whom everybody
liked. He had curly black hair, over an open an