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these images and his eye caught the soft gleam of gold at the side of
the church.

An antique and ornately carved candlestick sat majestically on an
altar. Joe's breath came quickly as he saw its beauty and he caught
himself wondering how much a candlestick like that was worth. Two
hundred, three hundred dollars, he mused and his mouth suddenly
went dryas he thought of Mary and their poor existence.

Why couldn't I take and pawn it, came the bold thought. His
mind instantly repelled such a thought only to have it come creeping
back in again, seeping through the slim cracks of conscience and rear-
ing its head once more.

Sure, why not? Money could tide me over 'til I get a job and then
I could bring the candlestick back. No one would ever know who
borrowed it. Borrow. He stumbled over the word and suddenly whis-
pered to himself: stealing. That's what it is, stealing, just like a com-
mon thief. He felt suddenly ill and made a move to rise.

Maybe God wouldn't care. He knows I need the money. Mary,
the boy. Joe faltered and then found himself moving quietly down the
side aisle toward the soft glow that was like a beckoning figure, urging
him to come forward.

He knelt quietly and gazed at the candlestick. Its beauty was al-
most intrinsic: a strong sculpture that had gentle but firm overtones of
softness; a work of art that showed love in every curve.

Two hundred, three hundred dollars, thought Joe and saw a
warm coat for Mary and the food stacked high in the now bare shelves.

Stealing, borrow, stealing, borrow, what shall J do, he cried out
silently and buried his face in his hands. He heard a slight movemen t
behind him and glanced around, seeing the old woman slowly and
laboriously limp up the aisle and heard the door give a soft thud of
relief as she passed into the wind and the rain of outdoors.

Alone. Now, he thought, now. The silence seemed to hold its
breath as he slowly rose and began moving. He seemed to watch him-
self creep forward, a silent furtive figure crouched over in an agony
of guilt. His hand grasped the warm gold and his fingers began to
curve slowly around the base of the candlestick.

The ball crashed through the window with a reverberation that
seemed like the crack of doom. The echoes swirled above, finally los-
ing themselves in the dim high recesses of the arches and the quiet slow-
ly recovered itself and again took hold of the scene.

Joe stood transfixed, his hand yet on the candlestick, his face
glassy with shock. He stood thus for fully a minute while time moved

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