Zepherin read a short address, in which he thanked the bishop for having sent missionaries to his people and for training him to help them. He read this with such an air of candor that when he had finished Cagliero embraced him warmly.

Costamagna, another bishop present, forthright and impulsive, bounced to his feet, and remarked on the unusual effect of the boy's address on the audience. "But," he objected, "There were moments when I was on the point of interrupting, and inserting in it the following sentence: `I, too, intend to go back to be an apostle among my brother Indians!'"

A burst of applause greeted this.

Zepherin, on the other hand, remained silent. Then he raised his hand to his eyes and hurried from the hall. The audience burst into another generous round of applause before giving its attention to the next item on the program. Cagliero, however, sensed something strange in Zepherin's behavior but decided to say nothing for the present.

At the ceremony the following day, several dignitaries were present, including the archbishop of Buenos Aires, the apostolic nuncio, and former President Luis Saenz Pena. Zepherin again appeared and as he read, again his manner had such an effect on his listeners that when he finished, Saenz Pena walked up to Zepherin and affectionately embraced the sone of this old friend.

As soon as Zepherin found himself alone after these moments of triumph, he could not help thinking back to his first days at San Carlos. What unbelievable effort it had cost him! How often his ignorance of the language had tongue-tied him and given rise to painful misunderstandings. Then there had been the problem of adapting himself to entirely new and bewildering ways of life! How to act in church, in the playground, in the classroom . . . Now he could laugh when he remembered his mistakes, but there had been times when he had despaired and felt that he could never adapt himself to the strange ways of the huincas.

In all his efforts, however, he had found nothing but encouragement. Beginning with "his friend the bishop," his teachers had not flinched before the task of drawing him out from his state of semi-savagery and making him the competent young man they themselves claimed he was today. The boys had not only accepted him but had even begun to look upon him as a leader. His one regret at this moment was that neither his father, nor mother, nor Claris and the others could have seen him as he had read before such important people. But there would be other times, he hoped, other moments like these when they, too, would share in his success.

The following day Saenz Pena wrote to the cacique:

Mi estimado coronel y amigo, Seņor Coronel Namuncura:

I take up my pen with two objects in mind: the first is to communicate to you the great satisfaction I experience at hearing your son deliver an address in honor of Bishop Cagliero. His accent was so correct, his phrases so opportune and eloquent that when he had finished I felt compelled to rise up and embrace him!

The second object is this: in view of Zepherin's success, I beg you to do everything possible to send the children of your colony to the Mission at Junin de los Andes where the padres conduct a school.

It is important that you do all you can for the education of your young Indians. I repeat that I felt great satisfaction on seeing the progress of your son.

You are aware of what I have already don for you. Rest assured that from now I shall do all in my power on your behalf and on behalf of your people.

Zepherin's influence over the boys gradually increased. It became evident that he was sincere in everything he did. It was beyond him to deceive and his humility was too deep not to impress. He even impressed those boys who lived on a somewhat different plane from the boys of San Carlos. These were students for the priesthood who lived in another house in the town of Bernal, about twenty miles east of Buenos Aires. Often the boys of San Carlos went there for an outing.

At first these boys merely cast curious glances at him. They already know, of course, that he was the sone of the formidable Manuel Namuncura; the padres, too, had told them something about him. Zepherin had not been going there long, however, before they fell into the habit, at first rather hesitantly, the willingly, of crowding round him every time he came. They enjoyed listening to him as in his strong but quiet voice he told them stories about his people.

It was left to the boys of San Carlos to put the final stamp of approval on Zepherin. That year, they elected him their president.

Not everyone, however, stood in admiration. There were others who honestly believed that he was receiving far too much attention, that too much was being made of him for his own good.

One of his teachers had been keeping a sharp eye on him. While observing Zepherin he had noticed how, for some time past, the boy had been acting rather out of character. Had all the praise and recognition anything to do with it? He was well aware that Zepherin had an earnest desire to learn. At least that was the way it had been. Now he seemed to be losing that diligence which had marked him out in the beginning. Frequently he had surprised the boy looking, not at his books, but out of the window -- daydreaming! He wondered what Zepherin could be thinking of during those moments. Knowing that the boy faced special difficulties stemming from his background, he decided not to make an issue of it. Instead, he called Zepherin aside and told him to avoid distractions and to concentrate more on his books. Given his problem with studies, he added, Zepherin was in no position to waste time.

Next day he was shocked to see that Zepherin, despite the warning, still kept staring out of the window. That decided it! There was only one thing to do -- move him to where he could stare at nothing more distracting than a brick wall! After a further period of observation, the teacher was happy. In all that time Zepherin had not even raised an eyebrow!

That evening he was crossing the playground when he heard someone running to overtake him. It was Zepherin.

"Well, Zepherin?" He said, expecting some sort of routine apology, "what's on your mind?"

"I wonder if you could let me sit near it again?"

"What" Scarcely believing his ears, the teacher stopped dead, preparing to utter a stern reprimand. "And may I ask," a note of sarcasm crept into his voice, "just why do you want to get back near the window? So that you can stare out of it all day?" Suddenly he noticed that the boy was strangely moved. "When, then. Tell me why you want to be near the window?"

"Well, you see, sir," stammered Zepherin, "from the window I could look into the chapel. That was wonderful. But from where I am now I cannot and the day seems so long . . . "

"Oh!" The teacher could find nothing appropriate to say at the moment. "Let me think it over."

All during supper, despite himself, he was disturbed. Finally, more out of an effort to regain his peace of mind than anything else, he decided to examine the situation himself. Sitting down on the desk formerly occupied by Zepherin, he looked out of the window. All he could see was the playground where the boys were at recreation. He looked directly across the playground . . . nothing. He looked to the left . . . still nothing; he looked to the right . . .that was where the chapel was. He looked again, more closely this time, and straightened up in the chair. From the window he could make out the little flickering red light that kept constant vigil before the Presence. He sucked in his breath. So that was why! Sliding to his knees, he bowed his head, for he could no longer look at the flickering light because of the tears which had welled up in his eyes unexpectedly.

Next morning, Zepherin entered the study hall to find that his books had been moved back to his old desk -- the one near the window. Gratefully he turned toward the teacher, but the latter glanced only briefly in his direction. But even in the brief glance the boy caught a look of understanding.

One day, spotting the bishop walking in the playground after lunch with a visiting padre, Zepherin kept hovering in the background waiting for the visitor to leave. He intended to dash up, say a quick hello, listen to the few words of encouragement from Cagliero, then dash off again. That was all. But how much it meant him to hear those words from "his friend the bishop"!

He had almost given up hope of seeing the bishop before recreation ended when all at once the latter glanced in his direction

"Zepherin!" he called out. "Come here! Meet a great man just arrived from Tierra del Fuego to beg for his Mission. Can you offer him any help?"

"What kind of help?"

"He's looking for men and money. Have you any money to give him?"

"I'm sorry, Bishop. I don't think so. I --"

"Shake hands with Father Jose Beauvoir. This is Zepherin, son of the gran cacique, Manuel Namuncura. He's here to study; then he intends to return to help his people."

As Zepherin shook hands he felt a surprising strength in the other's grip. The visitor was tall by Indian standards, lean and muscular. His clipped fair hair, lively blue eyes and quick manner gave the impression of a man always on the move, of a man who wanted to make every precious moment count.

"Wonderful! I wish we had an Indian apostle with us. Think of all the good he could do!"

"His father wants him to study arithmetic, reading and writing and such, so he can teach his people how to fend for themselves."

"But the best thing he could do for his people would be to provide for their souls. After all, the first acts of charity should be directed toward the most important part of man."

"You answer that one, Zepherin," the bishop urged. "You won first prize for religion."

"I suppose you are right, padre," the youth reflected. "But my father, I regret to say, does not yet understand those things too well. And I must obey my father's wishes."

"Naturally, but you wouldn't be the first young Indian to give up everything for what he thought was the best way to help his people."

"Young Indians did that?"

"Of course. And Araucanos, too!"

"Tell him, padre! That's exactly the sort of thing I want him to hear."

"There was young Lisbia, for instance. She preferred to be burned alive rather than marry Lepal, the son of Chief Toqui because he was a pagan. Her wonderful faith converted Lepal and he asked to be buried beside her in Concepcion, Chile. Ines, another Araucano, for the same reason, preferred to die rather than marry Loncotehua. And Huentemagu, like the suitor of St. Agnes, respected the virtue of his beloved Gregoria. Quemante, the Indian cacique, gave up his rich home to seek baptism and refused to return because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to live among pagans like a good Christian. There are many others."

Zepherin saw no more of the padre that day. It was the custom, however, for someone to say a few words to the boys before they retired. That evening Father Beauvoir stepped up to speak.

"I suppose I could claim," he began, "to be like St. Paul in more ways than one. To start with, I am a missionary. Then I was shipwrecked . . ."

For the next few minutes he gave the boys an exciting account of his adventures in part of South America Zepherin had never heard of. To their intense annoyance, however, the padre, suddenly aware that he had gone beyond the time allotted, abruptly cut short his talk.

But he had already said enough to whet their appetite. Next day after lunch a group of them led him off to continue the account of his adventures.

He raised his hands in resignation. "Well, boys. Since I'll be here for a couple of days, let's meet after lunch each day and I'll tell you all you want to hear about the mysterious land of Tierra del Fuego. And that includes the Indians," he smiled at Zepherin, "the shipwrecks, the adventurers, the gold prospectors, the storms . . ."

"Go-o-o-o-od!" a chorus of voices responded simultaneously.

"First, let's find a quiet spot where we can talk. I'll sit on the bench and you sit on the ground. Next we have to locate the place on the map."

Spreading a map of South America at their feet, with his finger he traced the boundaries of the southern section of Argentina and Chile. "All this territory became important when Magellan, the great Portuguese navigator, in 1520 discovered a shorter sea route across the new continent -- the Straits. He called the new sea the Pacifico -- Peaceful or Pacific. But that was only after he had left the Straits, for there it often jumps from pacifico to stormy in a single hour." He jabbed his finger at the Straits of Le Maire. "More ships have been shunk here than in any other part of the world, including the Sea of Saragossa. So many ships of the same name have gone down there! Susanna the First, Susanna the Second, Susanna the Third . . . You'd think poor Susanna the Third would have steered clear of the spot where her two sisters drowned!"

One of the boys began to laugh but he was promptly shushed to silence.

"Up here at the mouth of the Rio Grande the tide rises to a difference of more than fifty feet. That and the rough seas make it almost impossible to land either cargo or passengers. But a missionary simply has to take the risk and to struggle for his life against waves twice the height of your school buildings!

"The next most famous explorer to visit the place was Charles Darwin. When the Indians saw his ship, The Beagle, they lit fires to lure it to the banks and wreck it so they could loot it. When Darwin saw the fires he cried out `Fire! Fire! The Land of Fire -- Tierra del Fuego! What an odd name for a place where the temperature goes well below zero! People also believe that a race of giants lived there who ate humans. Many shipwrecked sailors preferred to hide and starve to death rather than be captured and eaten, as they thought, by these giants! It is a desolate land across which blows an icy wind so constant it bends the branches of the trees all one way and makes them look like witches with their outstretched arms waiting to strangle the unwary traveler. Can you imagine an icy wind that blows day and night?" An appreciative shiver ran through the audience. "Then there is the perpetual snow on top of the mountains, the sudden, treacherous storms, the strange and unknown people who roam these empty regions. . . "

At this point a bell rang, signaling the end of recreation. Without a word the padre folded the map, rose, and glancing down at the row of disappointed faces, burst out laughing. "Why so glum?" he asked. "There'll be another time!"