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THE BOYS, CHATTERING and rough-housing like young jungle-fresh monkeys, filed into the lunchroo their usual seats around a long table scarred with the initials of those who had come before them

Sister Mirialasses, waiting patiently until all thirty were seated Even sitting around the table, waiting for grace to be said before lunch, the children still poked each other with the rough curious hands of ten-year-olds She said above their noise, "All right Can I have quiet, please?"

They settled like food bubbling in a pot and watched her as she stood before therandmother in her black habit She held up her clipboard It was her responsibility to make certain they&039;d all returned from their recreation period She knew their names and faces well, but still there was the possibility that one of thele into the forest around the orphanage It had happened once before, un her work here, before the fence was put up, and there had almost been serious consequences for the child Now she took no chances

"We&039;ll have roll call before our lunch," she told them, as she always told them "Jas?"

"Here"

"Edward Andrew Bayless?"

"Present"

"Jeroles and howls from the children Sister Miriam looked up sharply

"You have half an hour for lunch before the next group comes in, children If you choose to be silly you simply waste your time Now I asked for silence, didn&039;t I?" She turned back to her clipboard "Gregory Holt Frazier?"

"Here"

"She went through the alphabet, nearing his name Sometimes she wished that he would leave, that he would turn his back on the ho perhaps only a shred of torn clothing on the fence to indicate that he had ever been there at all No, no, she said inwardly Forgive lanced up, her eyes nervous behind the glasses, and saw hi there, at the head of the table where he always sat, waiting for her to get on to his na faintly, as if he knehat unprofessional disorder lay behind her mask-like features

"Jeffrey Harper Raines"

He didn&039;t answer

The children had stopped

They waited

He waited

She cleared her throat and kept her head doay fro back in the kitchen "Jeffrey Harper Raines," she repeated

He sat in silence, his hands folded before him on the table His black eyes, narrow slits in a pale face, challenged her to challenge him

Sister Miriam dropped the clipboard down by her side Really! This nonsense had gone on quite long enough! "Jeffrey, I called your name out twice You failed to answer You rite your na your study hour and present that paper to ar Oliver Tortorelli"

But it was not that child who answered This was the voice of another child Him

"I didn&039;t hearthe word Sister so she thought at first he was going to utter a profanity

She blinked She felt suddenly hot Trays and plates clattered in the kitchen She said, "I called your name Children, didn&039;t I call Jeffrey&039;s na the other children into this This is so between him and me, not the like little dark marbles between the boy and the woman

"My name is Baal," the boy said "I do not answer to any other na - "

The crack of his voice stopped her short "I will not write a paper I will not answer to any naaze And she saw the grin slowly spread over histhe lips into a cruel smile, yet those eyes those eyes remained as cold and deadly as upraised rifle barrels Sister Miriam slammed the clipboard down on the table The other children juled nervously, but not him He sat motionless with his hands folded before hih a doorway and called to the sisters in the kitchen, "They&039;re ready for their lunches now" Without another glance at the children, she pushed through the heavy doors that led out of the dining hall Down dih the lass doors onto the great wide porch and past a gray-n near the steps that read THE VALIANT SAINTS HOME FOR BOYS Out in the far playground, ri to lose its late-auturoup of boys ran round and in circles like bees about a hive

She traversed the courtyard and started across the concrete drive for a s, so dissiable-eyed hulk of the orphanage, that housed the aded by trees that glowed bright yellow in the sunlight, was the orphanage chapel

Sister Miriah quiet wine-carpeted hallways to a sold script on the door His receptionist, a frail woman with a bitter face, looked up at her "Sister Miriam? Can I help you?"

"Yes I&039;d like to see Father Dunn, please"

"I&039;m sorry He has an appointment in ten minutes I believe we have a nice family for the Latta child"

"I have to see him," Sister Miriam said, and the receptionist watched, astonished, as the other wo to what she, an orphanage legend as Father Dunn&039;s receptionist for twenty-one years, had said

"Come in," said a voice from behind the door