Michael nodded a vague assent. Already the voice of the lector was vibrating through the church.
In the end of the sabbath, as it began to dawn towards the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.
Michael thought to himself how he had come to St. Bartholomew’s when Sunday was over. That was strange.
His countenance was like lightning and his raiment white as snow: and for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men.
“I wish that boy Wiggins wouldn’t fidget with his zuchetto,” Michael’s friend observed.
And behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see him: lo, I have told you.
Michael felt an impulse to sob, as he mentally offered the best of himself to the worship of Christ, for the words of the lesson were striking on his soul like bells.
And when they saw him, they worshipped him: but some doubted.
“Now you see the other boy has started fidgeting with his ,” complained the young man.
And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen.