Father Friday was accustomed to travel about the country for miles, hunting up those of his flock who, from the unsettled state of affairs, either could not or would not come into the town to church.  Like the typical missionary, from necessity he always walked; though, in my youthful enthusiasm, I used to think how grandly he would look upon a charger and in the uniform of a general.  In his old cassock, and wearing a hat either of plain brown straw or black felt, according to the season, he was as intrepid as a general, however; and went about alone as serenely as if the times were most peaceful.  Our colonel often remonstrated with him for doing so, and finally insisted upon appointing an orderly to attend him.  Father Friday at first declined; but upon hearing that the duty had been assigned to me, he in the end assented—­partly, I suppose, to keep me from bad company and out of mischief.  Many a pleasant tramp I had with him; for he would beguile the way with anecdotes and jokes, and bits of information upon geology, botany, the birds of that section—­everything likely to interest a boy.  What wonder that I regarded a day with him as a genuine holiday?

One October afternoon he said:  “To-morrow morning, Captain Tom” (the title was a pleasantry of his),—­“to-morrow morning I shall be glad of your company.  I am going some five miles back into the country to visit an invalid.”

“Very well, Father,” I answered.  “I shall be ready.”

Accordingly, the next day, at the appointed hour, I joined him at the gate of the convent, and we set out—­this time in silence, for he carried the Blessed Sacrament.  At first our course was through the open plain; but later it led, for perhaps a mile, across a corner of the pine forest, which extended all along the ridge and shut the valley in from the rest of the world.  We entered the wood confidently, and for half an hour followed the windings of the path, which gradually became less defined.  After a while it began to appear that we were making but little headway.

Father Friday stopped.  “Does it not seem to you that we are merely going round and round, Tom?” he asked.

I assented gloomily.

“Have you a compass?”

I shook my head.

“Nor have I,” he added.  “I did not think of bringing one, being so sure of the way.  How could we have turned from it so inadvertently?  Well, we must calculate by the sun.  The point for which we are bound is in a southerly direction.”

Having taken our bearings, we retraced our steps a short distance, then pushed forward for an hour or more, without coming out upon the bridle-path which we expected to find.  Another hour passed; the sun was getting high.  Father Friday paused again.

“What time is it?” he inquired.

I looked at the little silver watch my mother gave me when I left home.  “Nine o’clock!” I answered, with a start.

“How unfortunate!” he exclaimed.  “There is now no use in pressing on farther.  We should arrive too late at our destination.  We may as well rest a little, and then try to find our way home.  It is unaccountable that I should have missed the way so stupidly.”