“Is it time?”
The child looked reassured.
“Yes, Father.”
He came into the sacristy and went towards the cupboard where the vestments were kept, passing the silver crucifix. As he did so he glanced at it. He opened the cupboard, then stood for a moment and again turned his eyes to the Christ. The Father watched him.
“What are you looking at, Paul?” he asked.
“Nothing, Father,” the boy replied, with a sudden expression of reluctance that was almost obstinate.
And he began to take the priest’s robes out of the cupboard.
Just then the wind wailed again furiously about the church, and the crucifix fell down upon the floor of the sacristy.
The priest started forward, picked it up, and stood with it in his hand. He glanced at the wall, and saw at once that the nail to which the crucifix had been fastened had come out of its hole. A flake of plaster had been detached, perhaps some days ago, and the hole had become too large to retain the nail. The explanation of the matter was perfect, simple and comprehensible. Yet the priest felt as if a catastrophe had just taken place. As he stared at the cross he heard a little noise near him. The acolyte was crying.
“Why, Paul, what’s the matter?” he said.