The boys were delighted to be given such a
mission. A bright smile of welcome spread over the features of the Sister who answered the door, when she saw these college boys again.
“Come into the parlor, young gentlemen, and I will call Mother.”
The Superioress soon came. She was profuse in her thanks for what the students had done that week for her charges.
“May God bless you all,” she said. “Our old people, since yesterday's dinner, have done nothing but talk about the kindness of the young gentlemen in remembering them. Many extravagantly funny, and some really comical things were said in your praise,” and the nun's eyes twinkled and a smile stole around the corners of her mouth at the remembrance of many a quaint bit of Irish humor from the old men.
“Oh, tell us some of the things, Mother,” said the impetuous young Winters.
“I am unable to reproduce any of it. I should only spoil it if I were to attempt it. You must come and hear them yourselves some day.”
Henning then told her their mission.
“Please convey my thanks to the President. All of you must visit the infirmaries and distribute the gifts.”
Whether this is what the President intended—we are inclined to think it is—that visit was the very best thing that could have happened to Henning in his present frame of mind. There is nothing like witnessing the sorrow and misery of others to make us think less of our own. For the first time in his life Henning was face to face and in close touch with pain and suffering and disease and all the calamities of impoverished old age. What was a misfortune like his to that of being doubled and rendered help