"Mother, I'm a-goin' to church!" he asserted, pleased beyond words at the startled look which this declaration brought to the other's face.
"Lonely, you ain't sick, or nothing?" cried his mother, suddenly, turning his face to the light.
"No," he answered, sepulchrally. "No, I 'm not sick!"
"Then why are you acting up this way, fixing up, and talking about going to church, and all that?"
"I am seeking for the Light and the Truth!" answered the spirit of Agatha Boring, through the mouth of Lonely O'Malley. He rolled his eyes a little, as he said it, and even came back and closed the door after him, gently and slowly.
And as Lonely had always been an enigma to his own mother, Mrs. O'Malley accepted the new mystery for what it was worth, though a blind and wistful light came into her vacant eyes as they followed Lonely out through the warm night air, down the little path, and on through the murmurous silence of the village street.
