She could not reply at once. The question brought up so much of the past, such tragedy! She spoke with composure at last:
"He can come. He is free. He is mine—wholly mine."
The choir-master looked across the small room at his pupil, who, upon the discovery of the visitor's identity, had withdrawn as far as possible from him.
"And you are willing to come?" he asked, wishing to make the first advance toward possible acquaintanceship on the new footing.
No reply came. The mother smiled at her awe-stricken son and hastened to his rescue.
"He is overwhelmed," she said, her own faith in him being merely strengthened by this revelation of his fright. "He is overwhelmed. This means so much more to him than you can understand."
"But you will come?" the choir-master persisted in asking. "You will come?"
The lad stirred uneasily on his chair.
"Yes, sir," he said all but inaudibly.
His inquisitive, interesting friend of the park path, then, was himself choir-master of St. John's! And he had asked him whether he knew anything about the cathedral! Whether he liked music! Whether he knew how boys got into the school! He had betrayed his habit of idly hanging about the old building where the choir practised and of singing with them to show what he could do and would do if he had the chance; and because he could not keep from singing. He had called one of the Apostles Jim! And another Apostle Pete! He had rejoiced that Gabriel had not been strong enough to stand up in a high wind!