"You can go to jail here for fourteen days, if you like. I've been. It isn't so bad; they feed you well and you only have to crack stones for the roads."
"How can one get there?" I asked.
"I've got a chum at the police station. He'll put us down as vagrants. You don't have to steal anything.
I was horribly hungry. "All right, come on," I said.
It was Christmas Eve. We stood by the gates of the Gardens in the moonlight. We heard the town clock in the distance striking midnight, and as the last stroke died away the bells of St. Patrick's Cathedral pealed out, and down the deserted street came the chant through the open doors proclaiming God's promise of "Peace on earth, good will to men."
I thought of my own dear England, of home, of my dear father and sisters so many miles away, and the tears welled up in my eyes.
"My God, I can't stand this!" said my mate, and he fled down the street into the quiet of the night.
The river shone like a silver streak in the moonlight, and I knew what he meant. I walked to the great steps of the Cathedral, and through the doors I saw the lights of the great high altar and the priests chanting the mass. Everything seemed to be swimming around me. I remember the voices, the heavy perfume of the incense. I heard the "Gloria in Excelsis Deos," and then I remember no more.
When I came to I found myself in a small room with an old priest kneeling by my side. God bless him, wherever he is? He is one I shall never forget, for he started me fair on my road in life. From that day to this when I feel dismayed and weak the tender voice and kindly smile of this dear old man come back to me, and with them the memory of that Christmas Day in Melbourne when St. Patrick's bells rang out the welcome "Peace on earth, good will to men!"
