it. Guess we're gonta win all right. So long!" and lounged away to his
wheel.

He purchased another soda at the drug store to get one of his fives
changed into ones, one of which he stowed away in his breast pocket,
while the remainder was stuffed in his trousers after the manner of a
man. He bent low over his handle bars, chewing rythmically and pedaled
away rapidly in the direction of Sabbath Valley.




III


The bells of the little stone church were playing tender melodies as he
shot briskly down the maple lined street at a break neck pace, and the
sun was just hovering on the rim of the mountain. The bells often
played at sunset, especially Saturday evenings, when Marilyn Severn was
at home, and the village loved to hear them. Billy wouldn't have owned
it, but he loved to hear those bells play better than anything else in
his young life, and he generally managed to be around when they were
being played. He loved to watch the slim young fingers manipulating the
glad sounds. A genius who had come to the quiet hill village to die of
an incurable disease had trained her and had left the wonderful little
pipe organ with its fine chime of bells attached as his memorial to the
peace the village had given him in his last days. Something of his
skill and yearning had fallen upon the young girl whom he had taught.
Billy always felt as if an angel had come and was ringing the bells of
heaven when Marilyn sat at the organ playing the bells.