In which one surprise follows so closely upon the heels of another that Masters Esmond and Rieler lose power of speech and Will Benton strikes a blow which will live forever in the traditions of Campion College.

“Follow me—quietly,” whispered Father Keenan to the two boys, Clarence and John.

In single file the three threaded their way through the shrubbery. Suddenly the Rector paused, and put his finger to his lips.

“Listen,” he said.

“Ben,” came a clear, sweet voice, “do you believe everything that the Catholic Church believes and teaches?”

There was a response pitched so low that the listeners as they pressed steadily forward failed to hear it.

“And do you forgive all who have injured you?”

Clarence thought he could detect Ben’s voice saying—“Yes, yes: I do.”

“And do you forgive Pete?”

“Yes, from my heart.” The three were now quite near and the deeper voice of Ben could clearly be heard.

“And, Ben,” continued the silvery voice, “you wish to die a Catholic?”

“I do—I do.”

“And to be baptized?”

“Yes, Dora.”

“You must know, Ben, that when no priest can be had, anyone may, in case of necessity, baptize. Now, I am going to the river for water; and while I’m gone tell God that you are sorry for your sins.”

Suddenly, the flap of the tent was thrown back, and Dora, like some heavenly apparition, stood revealed. Her face was stained with tears. For the rest, she was in modesty, in expression in dress—blue and white—a Child of Mary.

“Dora,” cried Clarence, no longer able to contain himself. “O, Clarence,” cried the child throwing herself into his arms. “Pete has killed Ben. He stabbed him an hour ago, because Ben defended the statue of our Blessed Mother from Pete and his wife. They were going to burn it.”

“Dora,” said Clarence, “there’s a priest here.” And he pointed to Father Keenan.

“O, thank God! thank God! He has sent you to prepare Ben,” and the child threw herself at Father Keenan’s feet, and in all reverence, kissed his hand.

The practical Father Keenan, as she did so, took the glass from her fingers, and handed it to Rieler.

“Run to the river, John, and get some water.” Then raising Dora kindly, and throwing his hands above his head, the preconcerted signal, the Rector hastened into the tent.

“Dora! Dora!” came a deep voice as the girl was about to follow the priest.

Clarence turned. Will Benton, pale as a sheet, his eyes starting from their sockets, was hastening toward them. He was holding out his arms toward the girl, amazement and incredulity upon his face.

Dora turned. An astounding change came at once upon her face at sight of Will Benton. Pure joy irradiated it.

“O Will! my dear Brother Will,” she cried; and darting forward threw herself into his outstretched arms.

“But,” cried Will, as he caught her up and pressed her to his bosom, “you were drowned. We buried you.”

“No, you didn’t, Will. Thanks to our Blessed Mother, I was saved. A gypsy saved me, Will; and now he’s dying in my tent, dying because he gave his life to save me from the gypsy leader and to preserve our Blessed Mother’s statue from insult. Come, Will, let us see him before he dies.”

Clarence and John Rieler, grouped together and holding each others hands, stood stock-still gazing open mouthed. They looked at each other, as Will and Dora made for the tent, with unutterable awe. Speech was inadequate; and still linked together they followed the brother and sister within.

On Dora’s couch, above him the dear statue for which he had given his life, lay Ben, the sweat and the pallor of death upon his face. On one side, his wife was staunching vainly a gash in his side. On the other, leaned the Rector, talking earnestly in low tones to the dying man. No king could have been more stately in life than was Ben in his dying moments. No saint could have been more humble. Crouching in one corner, wide-eyed and silent, were Ben’s three little children.

“Are all here?” asked the Rector rising and gazing around. “I want you all to see Ben baptized.”

“O dear Ben, we are all here and we all love you,” cried Dora. “And here’s my brother Will, come to see you, too. Will, Ben has been so good to me. I love him as though he were another father.”

The dying man turned dark, wistful eyes to the big brother.

“Will you forgive me? I love Dora,” he said simply.

“And I love anyone that is kind to my sister,” boomed forth Will Benton’s hearty voice. “Your hand, Ben. May God be as good to you as you have been to her.”

“Clarence,” cried the dying man, “will you forgive me too. I have been bad, I am sorry.”

Clarence essayed to speak, but before he could enunciate a syllable fell to blubbering. But he caught Ben’s hand and fondled it.

“I am glad I was stabbed,” said Ben simply, “in trying to save that statue of the very good woman who was the mother of God, I believe. I want to be baptized.”

John Rieler was dabbing his eyes.

“Let all kneel down,” said the Rector.

Even the gypsy children, following the example of Dorcas, fell upon their knees, and then, the priest pouring water on Ben’s head said solemnly, “I baptize thee in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.”

Dora slipped over and pressed her lips to the newly regenerated one’s brow. Dorcas followed the child’s example and, turning to the priest, said:

“Father, baptize me and my children.”

“Not yet, my child,” said Father Keenan. “Wait a little longer, so it can be done in church. Boys, kneel down, while we say the prayers for the dying.”

Suddenly Ben raised his head.

“Clarence and Dora,” he cried.

“Yes,” answered both coming to his bedside.

“Take care of Dorcas, my wife, and my children. Make them good Catholics.”

“Yes, Ben,” said Dora.

“Yes, Ben,” said Clarence.

“O,” said the poor fellow—poor, that is according to the world’s standard—“how happy I am. I am ready to——”

He fell back unconscious.

The Rector who had taken out his “Excerpts from the Roman Ritual,” began, at once, the Litany of the Dying. Before the final invocation was uttered, Ben, the simple, the loving, the repentant, breathed his last.

“Let all leave the tent,” said Father Keenan, on coming to an end of the prayers for the dying, “except the wife and the children. Wait for me without. I will be with you in a few minutes.”

Dora, weeping freely, caught her big brother’s arm. Clarence a............