In a few months, he found himself the only Protestant boy in school and
the smallest of all the scholars. The monks were kind. They seemed
somehow to love him better than the others. Father Wallace reminded him
of his big brother. He was so gentle.

The Boy made up his mind to join the Catholic Church and went straight
to Father Wilson, the venerable head of the college.

The old man smiled pleasantly:

"And why do you wish this, my son?"

"Oh, it's so much more beautiful than the Baptist Church. Besides it's
so much easier--"

"Indeed?"

"Yes, sir. The Baptists have such a hard time getting religion. They
seek and mourn so long--"

"Really?"

"Indeed they do--yes, sir--I've seen stubborn sinners mourn all summer
in three protracted meetings and then not come through!"

"And you don't like that sort of penance?"

"No, sir. I've always dreaded it. And the worst thing is the new
converts have to stand right up in church before all the crowd and tell
their experience out loud. I'd hate that--"