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126 228 . the miracles of antichrist
that sort. He asks his mother if it is a feast-day.
They have so many of them.
They come nearer and nearer. The din of
festivities in the great city reaches their ear.
"All Palermo sings and plays to-night," some one
says.
" A telegram must have arrived about a victory in
Africa," says another.
It does not occur to any one that it can be for his
sake. He takes his place in the stern in order not to
see anything. He does not wish to delude himself
with hopes. Should all Palermo illumine for a
poor socialist ?
Then his mother comes and fetches him. " Don’t
stand there ! Come and look at Palermo ! It must
be a king that is coming to-day. Come and look at
Palermo! "
He reflects. No, he does not believe that any king
is visiting Sicily just now. But how can he dare to
believe, when no one else, not even his mother.-
All at once the people on the steamer give a loud
cry. It sounds almost like a cry of distress. A
large pleasure-yacht has borne straight down upon
them and now glides along the steamer’s side.
The whole yacht is flowers and light. Across the
railing hang red and white silk draperies. All the
people on board are dressed in red and white.
Bos-co stands on the steamer trying to detect what this
beautiful messenger is bringing. The sail veers
round and on its white surface there flashes before
his eyes : " Long live Bosco ! "
It is his name. Not a saint’s, not a king’s,
not the victorious general’s! The homage con-
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