The Mystery of Monastery Farm | Page 7

little wagon stood
already filled with the order before Billy arrived, and Carl was found in
the office crediting the farm with the morning's order on the books.
This was a great relief to the farmer, as it allowed him to spend the time
with the men upon the farm. So satisfactorily was this work done that
Carl had really become the manager of this part of the farm's
obligations. Once a month, Mr. Mills and Carl met to compare and
adjust accounts, thus greatly assisting Mr. Mills in bringing an accurate
report to the board of trustees. Mr. Quintin highly appreciated this
accuracy, and spoke of it at every opportunity. Everything in the
warehouse as well as upon the farm was in perfect order. This pleasant
state of things could not long exist without becoming known in the
family of students and faculty, and all soon began to be interested in the
young man, the result being that invitations began to arrive for him to
attend their entertainments and other functions. He was especially
invited to the exercise grounds and games.
A literary and musical entertainment was to be given. It was to be a sort
of Thanksgiving festival; the best speakers and singers had been
engaged and they had spent much time in rehearsal. The bishop was to
preside. The hour had arrived, but alas, where was the organist? No
word as to the cause of his absence had been received, and a substitute
must be found. Who, then, could be organist? John Keyes was the only
man among them that was acquainted with the numbers; he had
rehearsed them. But yesterday he had rushed away to visit his mother,
who was ill, expecting to be able to return in time, and Professor
Cummings was greatly disturbed because unsuccessful in finding
someone to take his place. The president and faculty were approaching.
They should now be singing the welcoming "Gloria." Instead, the great
organ was silent. But listen! Someone had touched the keys. The
audience arose simultaneously and sounded forth the grand old chorus,

"Glory to God in the Highest." Few in the audience suspected that John
Keyes was not at the organ. No one dreamed that the fingers pressing
those keys had not during the last year and a half touched a musical
instrument. But the festival went on with artistic smoothness to the
finish. None was more surprised than the bishop, who at the close
turned to thank the young man; but Carl had slipped away and was not
to be seen. During the entire entertainment Tom sat on a stool as if he
were petrified. This was the astonishment of his young life.
Next morning the stalwart voices of the students were heard as usual in
their early devotions, but there were no notes of the organ
accompanying them. Word had been received that Keyes himself was
ill, and, strange as it may seem, of all the one hundred and seventy-four
students none felt sufficiently proficient to assume his place at the
organ.
"Who played the organ last night?" asked the bishop. "Why can he not
play?"
"O, he is not a student. He is a young Englishman from the farm, a
relative of Sparrow's," replied the professor.
"Well, why don't you secure his services until Keyes returns? I wanted
to thank him last night but could not find him. That young man is a
musician, whoever he is. I will go over with you and we will see
Sparrow."
But they did not find the farmer; instead, they fell in with Carl in the
office of the warehouse. Tom stood on a box taking a lesson in
penmanship. The copy was, "Honesty is the best policy." The writing
lesson was being accompanied by a lesson in honesty. The visitors
listened on the other side of the thin partition to what Carl was saying
to Tom.
"Honesty is telling the truth," were his words. "Honesty means not
keeping back anything. Honesty means telling a thing as it is. Telling
the truth--not more, not less."

The grave bishop tapped at the door which was immediately opened by
Carl.
"Is Mr. Sparrow here?" asked the professor.
"No, sir," was the reply. "He has gone to Centerville, but will return by
noon."
"Well," said the bishop, "we really came to see you. You play the organ,
and we are minus an organist at our chapel services. Mr. Keyes, our
organist, we have just learned, has been taken suddenly ill and is in the
hospital. Can you serve us until he returns?"
"I hardly know how to answer you, Bishop," replied Carl, hesitatingly.
"I am working for Mr. Sparrow; and, besides, I have had no practice,
with the exception of last evening, for a long time, which is, of course,
a