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100
TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
of sympathy toward his friends, silently left the room.
No one saw the face of one of Henry Fitch's peons appear at the window on the opposite side of the hall. A minute later he was flying up the hill.
Again the Father Superior essayed to pronounce the dreaded sentence.
' ' Don Enrique Fitch, the court having ordered that thou shouldst produce such penance and reparation for thy crime as could be noticed thruout the whole Pueblo, and having failed, I charge thee for the last time, before pronouncing judgment ! ' '
He paused, and folded his arms. Henry Fitch gave a reassuring look toward his wife, who was now sobbing softly on her mother 's breast.
"Don Enrique Fitch/' boomed the Father Superior judicially, but he got no further.
A sweet, musical note suddenly stirred the drowsy air of all San Pedro Valley. It swept, a silvery thread of sound, into the judgment hall. Every man, woman and child turned with one accord, enraptured, raising their hands and eyes in grateful rec
ognition. They listened, and the morbid curiosity scaled from their faces and revealed sympathetic hearts.
"The penance!" murmured the Father Superior softly, and Henry Fitch nodded. "The Bell of Penance. Go and thank Padre Vincente — all of you — and ask his blessing upon you. He is a good and great man. Don Enrique, you are free ! ' '
Out on the hill the gray-haired old padre, a few minutes before, had lain down in the alfalfa. There were no tears to relieve his sobs ; there was no music to start the tears. The valley was silent —
But hark! A ravishing note had set the whole world in tune. The light returned to the dull eyes, and with it great, sweet tears. The whole valley took up the echo. Birds and animals and men came out to listen, and drew nearer.
All the music of the padre's whole life was in that silver bell — music that now for a hundred years since has been swelling the hearts of its hearers with love and happiness, and which will continue doing so for centuries to come.
The Picture Play
By RUTH RAYMOND
Close within a darkened room, Heeding not the chill and gloom,
Sits an eager crowd the while. Scenes are passing in review, Meadows green and skies of blue,
Mossy wall and rustic stile ; Golden heads and heads of gray Are lifted toward the Picture Plav.
Where are heroes, strong to dare ? Where are maidens, pure and fair ?
Listening to love's story old. Anxious is each watchful eye, As these scenes go speeding by,
Till the tender tale is told ; Golden heads and heads of gray Are lifted toward the Picture Play.
Reels are changed, a scene of joy Glads the heart of every boy,
Childish laughter fills the place; Aged ones forget their care, All the fun of youth to share,
Smiles transfigure every face; Golden heads and heads of gray Are lifted toward the Picture Play.