"I'm going to tell," Landor said, "I'm going to tell."

The buzzer sounded and he began the processional. The boys' voices rang angelic from the rear of the church, echoing among the high groins and arches of the ceiling as if filtering down from heaven. He glimpsed them through the pierced stone screen shielding himself and the organ from the congregation-clear young faces raised, trebel voices rejoicing, they came down the aisle in beautiful, swaying lock step behind the glittering cross.

After the service he detained Landor and Phillips. The weather was hot. The boys had been warm in their cottas and cassocks in the choir loft. Under their childish hair small beads of sweat shone on their foreheads.

"Landor tells me you claim-" Morton took a breath. "You claim that I gave you presents, Phillips."

Phillips said nothing. He took out the cigarette case, black lacquer with the calligraphy incised in red. He held it out in his ugly hand.

"I did not give that to you, Phillips. How did you get it?"

"You did so give it to me. Saturday morning, yesterday. After-after I did what you wanted Friday night. You promised it to me. You did. You-gave me five dollars too."

The blue eyes, watery, swimming behind the thick lenses, never-the-less looked at him straight.

"But that's not true, Phillips. It's a terrible lie. I don't suppose you've thought about it, but you'll destroy me, spreading that story."

"I only told Landor," Phillips said defensively. "I didn't mean nothin'. A thing like that happens to you, you gotta tell somebody, don't you?"

"But it didn't happen to you, Phillips. You and I know that. You only made it up. The trouble is, others are going to believe you. Take Landor, he seems to believe it." He sat on the piano bench. His hands touched the keys absently. He played soft, incomplete chords. "And Landor is going to tell Father Livingston. Do you know what that means: I'll lose my job. Do you want that to happen? Have I done anything to you to deserve that, Phillips?"

Phillips wavered, looked at the floor. He had twisted his legs around the legs of his chair. It was clumsy work, getting untangled. He hadn't quite managed it when he tried to get up. He tripped and fell at Morton's feet and the cigarette case skittered across the floor. Morton picked it up while the boy jumped to his feet.

"Thank you," Morton said. "Now, will you please tell Landor that you lied to him."

"I lied," Phillips mumbled, red-faced. He wiped his nose with the back of

his hand.

"Did you hear that, Landor?"

"Yes, sir," Landor said softly.

"Perhaps you'd better repeat it, Phillips. I want Landor to be convinced. Let's have the whole truth."

"I swiped the box when we were at Mr. Morton's for the Hallowe'en party. I wanted to carry it, that's all. So I said he gave it to me. Only, he wouldn't give it for nothing-not to me. So I made up the other part." He looked up suddenly. "Choir masters do do that with boys," he said aggressively, as if not quite believing it, as if not quite sure what it was choirmasters or boys did do.

"I've heard such stories." Morton smiled faintly. He rose and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "All right, Phillips. We won't say any more about this. We'll just forget it. Won't we, Landor?"

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