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onward and his senses slowly stopped reeling and began to right them-
selves. He moved into a darker section of the shadow as he heard firm,
slow footsteps approaching from the front and saw the back door open
silently and admit a small boy dressed in a eyO baseball uniform.

The hesitant footsteps lagged almost imperceptibly when the boy
saw the priest standing at the front altar, his head bowed, his hands
behind his back.

"Father," came the soft cry, "honest, we never meant the ball to
come this way. vVe never knowed it would curve like it did, the wind
... " The voice trailed off and the wretched face of the boy looked up.
He had almost reached the priest and he stopped, troubled by the
quietness of the figure.

"My son, my son," the deep and tired voice at last began. "You
have done a brave thing to come in and admit your error."

"Honest, Father, we'll pay for it, somehow." The voice ended on
a desolate note and the eyes of the priest flickered downward at the
boy. The child's head rose bravely. "Yes, we'll pay for it, every cent,
honest."

"My son, don't worry. Where would one your age find such
money? You are an honest boy and we will pay for the repair. Go out
now and continue your game." His hand raised in a blessing, the
priest turned and slowly walked out.

The boy watched wonderingly as the tall figure disappeared and
he then turned and walked down the aisle, the baseball bat in his hand
slowly trailing behind. He pushed open the door and a swirl of leaves
rushed in, chasing each other madly and dying suddenly as the boy
closed the door behind him.

Joe let out a long held breath and slowly let his hand drop from
the candlestick. He crept to the altar and again buried his face in his
hands, the tears coursing slowly down his cheeks and through his
fingers. Oh, God, he prayed, Oh, God. His prayer repeated itself
again and again until its soothing regularity calmed him and allowed
him to rise steadily. He turned without looking at the soft gold gleam-
ing in the dusk and walked slowly toward the rear of the church. He
pulled open the door and let the damp air wash over him.

The street was deserted and the wind picked up an occasional
scrap of paper and tossed it high above. Joe stepped carefully down
the steps, the door closing with a soft thud behind him.

The wind had begun to die down; the heavy sky was beginning
to lift.

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