soldier. "Come, let us share it and make our vows together."

The bright drops trembled and fell from the bottom of the cup. The
soldier sat still, his head in his hands.

"No," he answered heavily, "I cannot take it. I am not worthy.
Can a man take a sacrament without confessing his sins?"

Father Courcy looked at him with pitying eyes. "I see," he said
slowly; "I see, my son. You have a burden on your heart. Well, I
will stay with you and try to lift it. But first I shall make my
own vow."

He raised the cup toward the sky. A tiny brown wren sang canticles
of rapture in the thicket. A great light came into the priest's
face--a sun-ray from the east, far beyond the treetops.

"Blessed Jeanne d'Arc, I drink from thy fountain in thy name. I vow
my life to thy cause. Aid me, aid this my son, to fight valiantly
for freedom and for France. In the name of God, Amen."

The soldier looked up at him. Wonder, admiration, and shame were
struggling in the look. Father Courcy wiped the empty cup carefully
and put it back in his bag. Then he sat down beside the soldier,
laying a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

"Now, my son, you shall tell me what is on your heart."