“And I love anyone that is kind to my sister,” boomed forth Will Benton’s hearty voice. “Your hand, Ben. May God be as good to you as you have been to her.”
“Clarence,” cried the dying man, “will you forgive me too. I have been bad, I am sorry.”
Clarence essayed to speak, but before he could enunciate a syllable fell to blubbering. But he caught Ben’s hand and fondled it.
“I am glad I was stabbed,” said Ben simply, “in trying to save that statue of the very good woman who was the mother of God, I believe. I want to be baptized.”
John Rieler was dabbing his eyes.
“Let all kneel down,” said the Rector.
Even the gypsy children, following the example of Dorcas, fell upon their knees, and then, the priest pouring water on Ben’s head said solemnly, “I baptize thee in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.”
Dora slipped over and pressed her lips to the newly regenerated one’s brow. Dorcas followed the child’s example and, turning to the priest, said:
“Father, baptize me and my children.”
“Not yet, my child,” said Father Keenan. “Wait a little longer, so it can be done in church. Boys, kneel down, while we say the prayers for the dying.”