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I had a few spare moments before con- fessions that Saturday evening， so I headed for the church loft to play the organ a little. The days were so busy that there wasn t much time to play it anymore， and this was one of those evenings when I fdt like I was going to bust with frustration. As I hurried through the dim old sacristy， Father Vance stopped me. \"Oh， Tom?\" he said. \"Yes， Father?\" I said， trying to smother my irritation at losing even one minute of music. Father Vance had just finished his own eorffessions. They consisted mostly of old ladies in town who felt that the young whippersnapper (me) didn t know anything about souls. Now he was on his slow arthritic way back to the rectory for an hour of meditation be- fore supper. \"Did you see Mrs. Pawling?\" he asked me. \"I wasted an hour and a half with her，\" I said. \"She says no.\" Father Vance shook his head in amazement. \"And all the money she has...\" With one gnarled hand， he made a mute scrawl of frustration in the air. \"I m stir- 1
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