“And did anything happen to my mother and father?”
“I hope not. The only thing, my boy, we know is that they are missing. Anyhow, they are not listed among the injured or the dead. Here, sit down and look over this account in the paper.”
The Rector discreetly placed himself in such a position that he could not see the boy’s face. Clarence read, and after a few lines could not go on; tears blinded his eyes. For ten minutes, while the Rector busied himself writing letters, the boy wept, although making pretense of reading.
“This is awful, Father,” Clarence at length said.
“Have hope, Clarence. God has taken wonderful care of you today.”
“Indeed, He has.”
“Trust Him, and keep on hoping. As to all details, leave them to me. If there’s anything to be found out, I’ll get hold of it. In the meantime, you are the guest of Campion College. Here’s some change—pocket money. You know, you’ll have to treat John Rieler. And tomorrow you’ll be fitted out with what clothes you need. God bless you, my boy.”
“Father, you’re too good. Say, won’t you bless me—give me a priest’s blessing—the kind I’ve read about in books.”
“Certainly, Clarence.”
The boy fell on his knees, and over him stretched the Rector’s hands in a fervent benediction.