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Sant’ Angelo and tell him to hurry.”
    The Priest then began the supplication: “Propitius esto, parce nobis, Domine. Propitius esto, exaudi nos, Domine.” Father Pensovecchio mentioned the sins, nervously watching the door, and the people chanted the responses, turning their heads between responses.
    “Ab ira tua,” said the priest.
    “Libera nos, Domine,” said the people.
    “A subitanea et improvisa morte,” said the priest, fearing the non-appearance of Major Joppolo much more than sudden and unexpected death.
    “Libera nos, Domine,” said the people, twisting and turning.
    “A spiritu fornicationis,” said the priest, not even thinking of the Monsignor, as he usually did at this point.
    “Libera nos, Domine,” said the people, peeking at the door.
    The senior acolyte drew the small acolyte named Ludovico aside and took him out into the vestry and told him to do what the priest had said. Little Ludovico, not having been outside the Church at seventeen minutes past seven on a Sunday morning for most of the years he could remember, rushed out into the sunlight without thinking to ask where the American Major would be found, or, for that matter, who the American Major was, and why there was an American Major in the town, and whether there was any connection between the loud bangs one had heard for several days and the presence of the American Major.
    So little Ludovico sat down on the steps of the Church of Sant’ Angelo in the sun and wondered about these things.
    In his office Major Joppolo said: “They took the bell away on the fourteenth of June. That is a month less two days. That is not so much time. Considering how things are done in our Army, perhaps not much has been done with the bell. Where was it sent, Zito?”
    Zito said: “To the provincial government at the town of Vicinamare.”
    Major Joppolo said: “Perhaps it got no farther. Perhaps the bell is still sitting in its crate in Vicinamare.” Zito grew exicted: “Do you think that is possible?” he asked.
    The Major said: “It is possible. We must find out”
    And he took a piece of foolscap from his brief case and began a letter:
    “To: Lt. Col. R. N. Sartorius, C.A.O., Vicinamare, Prov. of Vicinamare.
    “FROM: Major V. Joppolo, C.A.O., Adano, Prov. of Vicinamare.
    “RE: Bell belonging to town of Adano.
    “Undersigned would very much appreciate your initiating investigation of records of provincial government of Vicinamare to see if you can trace...”
    The service in the Church of Sant’ Angelo was taking a most unusual course. Having completed the supplication, Father Pensovecchio started reciting the Litany of Saint Joseph. It was the longest litany he could think of offhand, and he repeated the words without any sense of their meaning.
    “Joseph, most valiant, Joseph, most obedient, Joseph, most faithful, mirror of patience, lover of poverty, model of workmen, ornament of the domestic life, guardian of virgins, safeguard of families...”
    Suddenly Father Pensovecchio broke off. He had had an idea. He beckoned again to the senior acolyte and whispered in his ear: “Have old Guzzo ring the bell.”
    “Now, father?”
    “Do as I say. Hurry.”
    And then the priest resumed in his hollow voice, “...consolation of the poor, hope of the sick, patron of the dying, terror of the demons.”
    And the people responded: “Pray for us.”
    The priest said: “Protector of the Holy Church.” The people were just in the middle of responding: “Pray for us,” when they heard a stroke of the bell over their heads. Worship had to stop while the bell rang, for its vibrations shook the whole church.
    In his office Major Joppolo blotted the letter and folded it.
    Borth said: “What time is it?”
    The Major looked at his wrist watch. “Seven twentysix,” he said.
    Borth said in Italian: “Zito, if you are such an expert on bells, what is that one ringing for at seven twenty-six in the morning, and all alone?”
    Zito said: “It is