Under the Big Dipper

clearly against the ultramarine background of bold mountains.

Equally attractive was the town itself with its quaint and quiet square, its clean gravel walks and the groups of religious statuary guarded by massive chains hanging from moss-covered stone pillars.

The red-faced cabby, who looked like a character in a musical comedy, stopped his vehicle before a narrow, red brick building somewhat retired from the square, flanked by the gray walls of a nondescript church. He pointed with his whip-handle to the small stone-faced door above which was a tarnished cross and grunted something that John could not for the life of him make out. Above the door, in a circular panel, he made out the words, “St. Aloysius.” This was the place, no doubt. Dismissing the cabby, he walked up to the door and gave a vigorous pull at the bell-handle. After waiting a few minutes, he heard steps along the corridor within

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