Rexford Mills was the manager of all temporal supplies of the Monastery—­all food supplies, repairs, fuel, servants, etc.  Three times a week his orders for vegetables, flour, corn meal, fowls, butter, eggs, milk, cheese, etc., as well as fruits in season, came to the farm.  Hitherto to supply these demands devolved upon Sparrow himself, thus occupying much of his time.  But during the seven months of his sojourn here, Carl had gradually and almost unconsciously become interested in the great warehouse and its contents and the triweekly demands of the family at the Monastery.  Often the little wagon stood already filled with the order before Billy arrived, and Carl was found in the office crediting the farm with the morning’s order on the books.  This was a great relief to the farmer, as it allowed him to spend the time with the men upon the farm.  So satisfactorily was this work done that Carl had really become the manager of this part of the farm’s obligations.  Once a month, Mr. Mills and Carl met to compare and adjust accounts, thus greatly assisting Mr. Mills in bringing an accurate report to the board of trustees.  Mr. Quintin highly appreciated this accuracy, and spoke of it at every opportunity.  Everything in the warehouse as well as upon the farm was in perfect order.  This pleasant state of things could not long exist without becoming known in the family of students and faculty, and all soon began to be interested in the young man, the result being that invitations began to arrive for him to attend their entertainments and other functions.  He was especially invited to the exercise grounds and games.

A literary and musical entertainment was to be given.  It was to be a sort of Thanksgiving festival; the best speakers and singers had been engaged and they had spent much time in rehearsal.  The bishop was to preside.  The hour had arrived, but alas, where was the organist?  No word as to the cause of his absence had been received, and a substitute must be found.  Who, then, could be organist?  John Keyes was the only man among them that was acquainted with the numbers; he had rehearsed them.  But yesterday he had rushed away to visit his mother, who was ill, expecting to be able to return in time, and Professor Cummings was greatly disturbed because unsuccessful in finding someone to take his place.  The president and faculty were approaching.  They should now be singing the welcoming “Gloria.”  Instead, the great organ was silent.  But listen!  Someone had touched the keys.  The audience arose simultaneously and sounded forth the grand old chorus, “Glory to God in the Highest.”  Few in the audience suspected that John Keyes was not at the organ.  No one dreamed that the fingers pressing those keys had not during the last year and a half touched a musical instrument.  But the festival went on with artistic smoothness to the finish.  None was more surprised than the bishop, who at the close turned to thank the young man; but Carl had slipped away and was not to be seen.  During the entire entertainment Tom sat on a stool as if he were petrified.  This was the astonishment of his young life.