He sat silent a few minutes, and then the terrible cloud of self and
pride dropped off from his heart like a death-shroud, and he threw
himself into her arms.

"Oh, mother, I see it all!" he said. "I am free again. I have only to
sing to the blessed Lord of all, quite sure He listens, to Him alone,
and to all else as just a little one of the all He loves."

And after the evening meal, and a game with Lenichen, the boy crept out
to the cathedral to say his prayers in one of the little chapels, and
to thank God.

He knelt in the Lady chapel before the image of the infant Christ on
the mother's knees.

And as he knelt there, it came into his heart that all the next Week
was Passion week, "the still week," and would be silent; and the tears
filled his eyes to remember how little he had enjoyed singing that day.

"How glad the little children of Jerusalem must have been," he thought,
"that they sang to Jesus when they could. I suppose they never could
again; for the next Friday He was dead. Oh, suppose He never let me
sing to Him again!"

[Illustration: "'LOOK AT ME,' THE OLD MAN SAID."]

And tears and repressed sobs came fast at the thought, and he murmured
aloud, thinking no one was near: