Sleep fled the little household that night. In his father's arms, while the distressed mother hung over them, the boy sobbed out his confession. He had not intended to deceive. He had picked up this book in the stall without knowing its nature. He had become so interested in what it said about the Virgin Mary that he forgot all else. The shopkeeper had found him reading it, and had laughed and winked at his clerk when he bade the boy take it home for the night. The book had fascinated him. He himself--did not his father know?--had so often asked how the Virgin could be the mother of God, and why men prayed to her. Yes, he knew it mocked their faith--and the sacred Scriptures. He knew, too, that his father would not approve of it. That was why he had tried to hide it beneath his pillow. He had been wicked, desperately wicked, to deceive his dear parents--But the book--It made him forget--It said so many things that seemed to be true--And--and-- "Oh, _padre mío_, forgive me, forgive me! I want to know the truth about God and the world!" The delicate frame of the young lad shook in paroxysms of grief. Alas! it was but the anguished soul-cry which has echoed through the halls of space since time began. What a mockery to meet it with empty creed and human dogma! Alas! what a crime against innocence to stifle the honest questionings of a budding mind with the musty cloak of undemonstrable beliefs. "But, my son, have I not often told you? The Holy Church gives us the truth," replied the father, frightened by the storm which raged within the childish soul, yet more alarmed at the turn which the mind of his cherished son was apparently taking--his only son, dedicated to the service of God from the cradle, and in whom the shattered hopes of this once proud family were now centered. "But this book laughs at us because we pray to a woman!" sobbed the boy. "True. But does not its author need the prayers of so pure a woman as the Virgin? Do we not all need them? And is it not likely that one so good as she would have great influence with God--much greater than we ourselves, or even the best of men, could have?" "But how can she be the mother of God? The Bible does not teach that!" "How do you know that the Bible does not teach it, my son?" "I--I--have read--the Bible," faltered the lad. "You have read the Bible!" cried the astonished father. "And where have you done that, you wicked boy?" "At the bookstore of Mariano," confessed the trembling child.