Портрет художника в юности

           TheechoesofcertainexpressionsusedinClongowessoundedinremotecavesofhismind.

           Hisearswerelisteningtothesedistantechoesamidthesilenceoftheparlourwhenhebecameawarethatthepriestwasaddressinghiminadifferentvoice.

           —Isentforyoutoday,Stephen,becauseIwishedtospeaktoyouonaveryimportantsubject.

           —Yes,sir.

           —Haveyoueverfeltthatyouhadavocation?

           Stephenpartedhislipstoansweryesandthenwithheldthewordsuddenly.Thepriestwaitedfortheanswerandadded:

           —Imean,haveyoueverfeltwithinyourself,inyoursoul,adesiretojointheorder?Think.

           —Ihavesometimesthoughtofit,saidStephen.

           Thepriestlettheblindcordfalltoonesideand,unitinghishands,leanedhischingravelyuponthem,communingwithhimself.

           —Inacollegelikethis,hesaidatlength,thereisoneboyorperhapstwoorthreeboyswhomGodcallstothereligiouslife.Suchaboyismarkedofffromhiscompanionsbyhispiety,bythegoodexampleheshowstoothers.Heislookeduptobythem;heischosenperhapsasprefectbyhisfellowsodalists.Andyou,Stephen,havebeensuchaboyinthiscollege,prefectofOurBlessedLady’ssodality.PerhapsyouaretheboyinthiscollegewhomGoddesignstocalltoHimself.

           Astrongnoteofpridereinforcingthegravityofthepriest’svoicemadeStephen’sheartquickeninresponse.