“Sh!  Mustn’t talk in church.”

The Colonel stared a moment at the Boy’s presumption, drew himself up a little pompously, and crossed his arms over his huge chest.

“Why, they’ve got an organ!” The Boy forgot his strict views on church etiquette as the sudden sweetness swelled in the air.  Brother Paul, with head thrown back and white face lifted, was playing, slowly, absently, like one who listens to some great choir invisible, and keeps their time with a few obedient but unnecessary chords.  And yet—­

“The fella can play,” the Colonel admitted.

The native choir, composed entirely of little dark-faced boys, sang their way truly through the service, Father Brachet celebrating Mass.

“Brother Paul’s ill, isn’t he?  Look!” The lay-brother had swayed, and drooped forward over the keyboard, but his choir sang steadily on.  He recovered himself, and beckoned one of the boys to his side.  When he rose, the child nodded and took the organist’s place, playing quite creditably to the end.  Brother Paul sat in the corner with bowed head.

Coming out, they were in time to confront Sister Winifred, holding back the youngest children, eager to anticipate their proper places in the procession.

The Boy looked fixedly at her, wondering.  Suddenly meeting The clear eyes, he smiled, and then shrank inwardly at his forwardness.  He could not tell if she remembered him.

The Colonel, finding himself next her at the door, bowed, and stood back for her to pass.

“No,” she said gently; “my little children must wait for the older ones.”

“You have them under good discipline, madam.”  He laid his hand on the furry shoulder of the smallest.

The Boy stood behind the Colonel, unaccountably shy in the presence of the only white woman he had seen in nearly seven months.  She couldn’t be any older than he, and yet she was a nun.  What a gulf opened at the word!  Sister Winifred and her charges fell into rank at the tail of the little procession, and vanished in the falling snow.  At breakfast the Colonel would not sit down till he was presented to Brother Paul.

“Sir,” he said in his florid but entirely sincere fashion, “I should like to thank you for the pleasure of hearing that music to-day.  We were much impressed, sir, by the singing.  How old is the boy who played the organ?”

“Ten,” said Brother Paul, and for the first time the Boy saw him smile.  “Yes, I think he has music in him, our little Jerome.”

“And how well all your choir has the service by heart!  Their unison is perfect.”

“Yes,” said Father Brachet from the head of the table, “our music has never been so good as since Paul came among us.”  He lifted his hand, and every one bowed his head.

After grace Father Richmond took the floor, conversationally, as seemed to be his wont, and breakfast went on, as supper had the night before, to the accompaniment of his shrewd observations and lively anecdotes.  In the midst of all the laughter and good cheer Brother Paul sat at the end of the board, eating absently, saying nothing, and no one speaking to him.