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 three points, and the conclusion. Don Calosso was surprised and delighted, and asked him if he would not like to study.

"My brother Anthony says it is useless waste of time for a peasant; but I would like to learn if I could."

"And have you ever thought of being a priest, my son?" persisted Don Calosso.

"I think if I knew enough myself," John answered modestly, "I should like to instruct poor neglected children and preserve them from wickedness."

The cry of his angelic soul was already mounting up to God: Da mihi animas: caetera tolle! the prayer of St. Francis of Sales, the beloved Missionary-Bishop and Doctor of the Church—the prayer which was one day to be the watchword of his great triple Society of Salesians, engraved on their hearts, in all their utterances, stamped on their documents and books, and carved in golden evidence over their world-wide homes.

Eleven years old! The mystic dream had already become an incentive, a hope, a great desire in that young heart—a desire that burned more ardently the more it was repressed. But God was on his side. Don Calosso was not long in arranging matters with Margaret, and he himself became the boy's teacher. John's brothers were strong in opposition; but Margaret declared stoutly: