``Where you been today?'' Ludie inquired every evening, pretending that he did not care. ``He'll make a preacher out of you!''

``No, he won't!'' Stevie flared. ``Not me!''

``Somebody's got to be a preacher in the family. He made a will and last testament before we left Paterson. I heard them! Uncle and Aunt Howe were the witnesses.''

``Will he die?''

``Everybody does.''

Ludie could be hateful. To speak of Papa dying was a sin. It could never happen as long as God was alert and the Drew steeple stood guard with its peaked lance.

Stevie was constantly slipping into the church. He pulled with all his strength at the heavy, brass bound door, and shuffled along the wainscoted wall. The cold, mysterious presence of God was all around him. At the end of a shaft of light, the pews appeared to be broad stairs in a long dungeon. Far away, standing before a curtained window in the study room, was his father, hands tucked under his coattails, and staring into the dark church. The figure was wreathed in an extraordinary luminescence.

The boy shuddered at the deathly pale countenance with its wrinkles and gray hair. Would Papa really die? The mouth was thin lipped and wide, the long cleft in the upper lip like a slide. When Papa's slender fingers removed the spectacles, there were red indentations on the bridge of the strong nose.

``It's time you began to think on God, Stephen. Perhaps one day He will choose you as He chose me, long ago. Therefore, give Him your affection and store up His love for you. Open your heart to Him and pray, Stephen, pray! For His mercy and His guidance to spare you from evil and eternal punishment in the Lake of Fire.''