The Flaming Cross
by Francis Clement Kelley
IT was already midnight when Orville, Thornton and Callovan arose from
a table of the club dining-room and came down in the elevator for
their hats and coats. They had spent an evening together, delightful
to all three. This dinner and chat had become an annual affair, to
give the old chums of St. Wilbur's a chance to live over college days,
and keep a fine friendship bright and lasting. Not one of them was old
enough to feel much change from the spirit of youth. St. Wilbur's was
a fresh memory and a pleasant one; and no friends of business or
society had grown half so precious for any one of these three men as
were the other two, whom the old college had introduced and had bound
The difference in the appearance of the friends was very marked.
Thornton had kept his promise of growing up as he had started: short,
fat and jovial. Baldness was beginning to show at thirty-five. His
stubby mustache was as unmanageable as the masters of St. Wilbur's had
found its owner to be. He had never affected anything, for he had
always been openly whatever he allowed himself to drift into. Neither
of his friends liked many of his
actions, nor the stories told of
him; but they liked him personally and were inclined to be silently
sorry for him, but not to sit in judgment upon him. Both Orville and
Callovan waited and hoped for "old Thornton"; but the wait had been
long and the hope very much deferred.
Callovan was frankly Irish. The curly black hair of the Milesian spoke
for him as clearly as the blue-gray eye. He shaved clean and he looked
clean. An ancestry of hard workers left limbs that lifted him to
almost six feet of strong manhood. His skin was ruddy and fresh. Two
years younger than Thornton, he yet looked younger by five. And
Callovan, like Thornton, was inwardly what the outward signs promised.
Orville was tall and straight. The ghost of a black mustache was on
his lip. His hair was scanty, and was parted carefully. His dress
showed taste, but not fastidiousness. He was handsome, well groomed
and particular, without obtrusiveness in any one of the points. He was
just a little taller than Callovan; but he was grayer and a great deal
more thoughtful. He was a hard book to read, even for an intimate; but
the print was large, if the text was puzzling. He looked to be "in"
the world, but who could say if he were "of" it?
All three of these friends were very rich. Thornton had made his money
within five years—a lucky mining strike, a quick sale, a move to the
politics were mixed up in a sort of rapid-fire
story that the other friends never cared to hear the details of.
Callovan inherited his wealth from his hard-fisted old father, who had
died but a year before. Orville was the richest of the three. He had
always been rich. His father had died a month before he was born. His
mother paid for her only child with her life. Orville's guardian had,
as soon as possible, placed him in St. Wilbur's Preparatory School and
then in the College; but he was a careful and wise man, this guardian,
so, though plenty of money was allowed him, yet the college
authorities had charge of it. They doled it out to the growing boy and
youth in amounts that could neither spoil nor starve him. It was good
for Orville that the guardian had been thus wise and the college
authorities thus prudent. He himself was generous and kind-hearted; by
nature a spendthrift, but by training just a bit of a miser. He had
learned a little about values during these school and college days.
"Your car is not here yet, Mr. Orville," said the doorman, when the
three moved to leave the club.
"Very unlike your careful Michael," remarked Callovan.
Orville came at once to the defense of his exemplary chauffeur. "I
gave him permission to go to St. Mary's to-night for confession," he
said. "Michael will be here in a moment. He goes to confession
Saturday night and is a weekly communicant. I can stand a little
tardiness once a week for the sake of having a man like Michael
"Good boy is Michael," put in Thornton. "I wish I could get just a
small dose of his piety. Candidly, I am awfully lonesome sometimes
without a little of it.
A page came running up. "Telephone for you, Mr. Orville," he said; and
at almost the same moment the doorman called out: "Your car is here
now, sir." Orville went to the telephone booth, but returned in a
"Lucky for us that we waited," he said. "It was Marion who called. She
is at the Congress, and she wants me to take her home. She came
down-town with her brother to meet the Dixes from Omaha, and that
worthless pup has gone off and left her. She knew that I was here
to-night, and 'phoned, hoping to catch me. We will pass around by the
hotel and take her back with us."
When the friends came out, Michael was standing with his hand on the
knob of the big limousine's door. "I am sorry if I made you wait,
sir," he said. "I had a fainting spell in the church and could not get
away sooner. A doctor said it was a little heart attack; but I am all
Orville answered kindly. "I am sorry you were ill, Michael, but we are
glad enough that you were late. That ill wind for you blew good to us,
we have Miss Fayall home with us. If you had been on time we
would have missed her. Go around to the Congress first."
The car glided down Michigan avenue to the hotel, where Marion was
already waiting in the ladies' lobby. She looked just what she was,
the pampered and petted daughter of a rich man. Tonight her cheeks
were flushed and her hand was very unsteady. Orville noticed both when
she entered the car. He was startled, for Marion was his fiancée. He
knew that she was usually full of life and spirit; but this midnight
gaiety worried him, and all the more that he loved the girl sincerely.
Marion talked fast and furiously, railing continually at her brother;
but she averted her face from Orville as much as possible and spoke to
Thornton. Orville said nothing after he had greeted her.
The car sped on, passed the club again and down toward the bridge at
the foot of the avenue. Marion was scolding at Thornton as they
approached the bridge at a good rate of speed. Orville was staring
straight ahead, so only he saw Michael's hand make a quick movement
toward the controller, and another movement, at the same time, as if
his foot were trying to press on the brake; but both movements seemed
to fall short and Michael's head dropped on his breast. Alarmed,
Orville looked up. He had a swift glimpse of a flashing red light. A
chain snapped like a pistol shot. He heard an oath from
a scream from Marion. Then, in an instant, he felt the great weight
falling, and a flood of cold water poured through the open window of
the car. He tried to open the door, but the weight of water against it
made this impossible. The car filled and the door moved. He was pushed
out. He thought of saving Marion; but all was dark around him. He
tried to call, but the water choked him. He could only think a prayer,
before he seemed to be falling asleep. Everything was fading away
before him, in a strange feeling of dreamy satisfaction; so only
vaguely did he realize the tragedy that had fallen upon him.
WHEN light and vision came back to Orville, he was standing up and
vaguely wondering why. Before him he saw Thornton and Marion, side by
side. Near them was Callovan with Michael. All were changed; but
Orville could not understand just in what the change consisted. In
Thornton and Marion the change was not good to look at, and Orville
somehow felt that it was becoming more marked as he gazed. Michael was
almost transformed, and was looking at Orville with a smile on his
face. Callovan was smiling also, so Orville naturally smiled back at
them. Thornton was frowning, and Marion looked horrible in her
Orville could understand nothing of it. He glanced about him
and saw thousands of men and women, all smiling or frowning, like his
companions. Several seemed to be about to begin a journey and were
moving away from the groups, most of them alone. Some had burdens
strapped to their shoulders and bent under them as they walked. Those
who were not departing were preparing for departure; but Orville could
see no guides about. All the travelers appeared to understand where
they were to go.
Orville watched the groups divide again and again, wondering still,
not knowing the reason for the division. Some took a road that led
upward to a mountain. It was a rough, hard and tiresome road. Orville
could see men and women far above on that road, dragging themselves
along painfully. Another road led down into a valley; but Orville
could not see deep into that valley, because of a haze which hung over
it. He looked long at the road before he noticed letters on a rock
which rose up like a gateway to it, and he vaguely resolved that later
he would go over and read them. But first he wanted to ask questions.
"Michael, what does all this mean?" Orville said; all the time
marveling that it was to his servant he turned for information.
Michael still smiled, and answered: "It means, sir, that we are
Orville was astonished that he felt neither shocked nor startled.
"Dead? I do not quite understand, Michael. You are not joking?"
"No, sir. It happened quickly. We went over the bridge a minute ago.
Our bodies are in the river now, but we are here."
"Where?" asked Orville.
Michael answered, "That I do not know, sir, except that we are in The
Land of the Dead."
"But you seem to know a great deal, Michael," said Orville.
"Yes," answered Michael; "I died a minute before you, sir, so I came
earlier. I was dead on my seat when we struck the chain and broke it.
One learns much in a minute here. But tell me, sir, can you see
anything at the top of that mountain?"
Orville looked up and saw a bright light before him on the very summit
and seemingly at the end of the road. As he gazed it took the form of
a Flaming Cross.
"I see a Cross on fire, Michael," he said. Michael answered simply:
"I can see a Flaming Cross, too," said Callovan, speaking for the
first time. "I can see it, and what is more, I am going up to it; let
us not delay an instant"; and Callovan began to gird his
strange-looking garment about him for the climb.
Then Orville knew that he himself was drawn toward that Flaming Cross.
There was a something
urging him on. His whole being was filled with
a desire to get to that goal, and he, too, prepared quickly for the
"Wait a moment, sir," said Michael. "Do the others see nothing on the
Thornton and Marion, still frowning, were looking down into the haze
of the valley. They were paying no attention to their friends.
"Come, let us go," said Thornton to the girl, as he pointed to the
road which led down into the valley.
"No, no," said Michael, "not there. Look up at the mountain. What do
Both Marion and Thornton glanced upward. "I see nothing," said Marion.
"I see a Cross, but it is black and repellant-looking," said Thornton.
"Come, Marion, let us go at once."
Orville, alarmed, called out: "Marion, you will surely come with me."
The frown on her face changed to a look of awful sadness, but she put
her hand into Thornton's while saying to Orville: "I can not go there
with you—not upward. I must enter the valley with him." She moved
away, her hand still in Thornton's. Orville watched them go, only
wondering why he had no regrets.
"Michael," he said, "I loved her on earth. Why am I unmoved to see her
"But when their feet touched the road, they turned and
looked their terror."
But Michael answered, "It is not strange in The Land of the Dead.
There are stranger partings here; but all of them are like
yours—tearless for those who see the Cross."
Thornton and Marion by this time had entered the valley road and were
on the other side of the rock gateway. But when their feet touched the
road they turned and looked their terror. Suddenly they recoiled and
struck viciously at each other. Then they parted. With the wide road
between them they went down into the valley and the haze together.
Orville read the words on the rock gateway, for now they stood out so
that he could see plainly, and they were: "THE ROAD WITHOUT ENDING."
"Michael," he said, "what does it mean?"
Michael answered, "She could not see the Cross here, who would not see
it on earth. It repelled him, who so often had repelled it in life."
NEITHER Orville nor Callovan was at all moved by the tragedy each had
witnessed. Orville's love for Marion was as if it had never existed.
The friendship of both for Thornton did not in the slightest assert
itself. They felt moved to sorrow, but the overpowering sense of
another feeling—a feeling of victory for some Great Friend or
Cause—left the vague sorrow forgotten in an instant. Both men
that Thornton and Marion had passed out of their ken forever, and in
the future would be to them as if they had not been. All three made
haste to go toward the road which led up to the Flaming Cross. Then
upon Orville's shoulders he felt a heavy burden, but still heavier was
one which was bending Callovan down. Michael alone stood straight,
without a weight upon him.
"It will be hard to climb to the Cross with these burdens, Michael,"
"Yes, sir, it will," said Michael, "but you must carry them. You
brought them here. They are the burdens of your wealth. They will
hamper you; but you saw the Cross, and in the end all will be well."
"Then these burdens, Michael, are our riches?" asked both Orville and
Callovan in the same breath.
"They are your riches," replied Michael. "I have no burden, for I had
no riches. Poor was I on earth, and unhampered am I now for the climb
to the Cross. Look yonder." He pointed to a man standing at the fork
of the roads. His burden was weighing him to the earth. "He brought it
all with him, sir," continued Michael; "in life he gave nothing to
God. Now he must carry the burden up to the Cross, or leave it and go
the other road. He sees the Cross, too; but it will take ages for him
to reach it."
The man had thrown down the burden and now started to climb without
it. But unseen hands lifted
it back to his shoulders. Men and women
going to the other road beckoned him to throw it away again and come
with them; but he had seen the Cross and, keeping his eyes fixed upon
it, he crawled along with his burden upon him, inch by inch, up the
"In life he was good and faithful, but he did not understand that
riches were given him to use for a purpose and that he was not,
himself, the purpose," said Michael. "It was a miracle of grace that
he could see the Cross at all."
"I knew that man in life," said Callovan. "But why is not my burden
heavier than his? I was richer by far."
"You lightened it by more charity than he," said Michael, "but you did
not lighten it sufficiently: Had you given even one-tenth of all that
you had, you would now be even as I am—free of all burden."
"I wish I had known that," said Callovan.
"But, alas! you did know," replied Michael. "We all knew these things.
We are not learning them now. But look up, sir, and see the old man
with the heavy burden above you. You are going to pass him on your
way, yet he has been dead now for a year."
Callovan looked up and gasped: "My father!"
"Yes; your father," said Michael. "You had more charity than he, and
when you did give you gave with better motives; yet he always saw the
Cross more plainly than you. He was filled with Faith."
"Is it possible that I will be able to help him when I get to his
side?" asked Callovan.
"I think," replied Michael, "that you may; but you could have helped
him better in life by prayers and the Great Sacrifice. You probably
may go along with him, when you reach him, for you both see the Cross,
and perhaps you will be allowed to aid him up the mountain."
They had by this time reached the first steps of the climb. Orville
could read the words which marked the mountain road: "THE ROAD OF PAIN
"But the Cross draws much of the pain out of it," said Michael. "We
must leave you here, sir," he said to Callovan, turning to him. "You
have far to go to reach your father; but your load is heavier than my
master's, and then you must be lonely for a while."
"But why must I be lonely?" asked Callovan.
"For many reasons, sir," replied Michael. "You will know them all as
you go along. Knowledge will come. I may tell you but a few things
now. In life you loved company, and it was often an occasion of sin to
you. You go alone for a while in the Land of Death, on this pilgrimage
to the Cross, so that you may contemplate God, Whom you failed to
enjoy by meditation, when you could have had Him
alone. Then you have
few to pray for you now, for such companions as you had in life did
not and do not pray. They will cover your coffin with flowers; but the
only prayers will be those of the poor whom you befriended. One
priest, after your funeral, will offer the Great Sacrifice for you. He
was a friend whom you helped to educate. He will remember you at your
burial, and again, too, before the climb is over."
"But, Michael," said Callovan, "I gave a great deal to many good
works. Will none of the gifts count for me?"
"Yes, sir, it is true that you did give much, but," answered Michael,
"the gifts were offerings more often to your own vanity than they were
to God. Motives alone govern the value of sacrifice in the Land of
Death. Look, now, behind you. There is one who can best answer your
Callovan turned to see an old and venerable looking man at the fork of
the roads. He was gazing anxiously at the mountain, as if he dimly saw
the Cross; but his burden was terrific in its weight. It rested on the
ground before him. He scarcely had the courage to take the mountain
road, knowing that the burden must go with him.
"I have seen that man before," said Orville. "They gave him a
reception at our club once. He was a great philanthropist—yet, look
at his burden."
"Philanthropist he was, but I fear he will go on The Road without
Ending," said Michael. "He has many amongst those who can hate for
eternity to hate him."
Suddenly from the multitude of the dead came men and women, who looked
with hatred upon the old man, and surrounded him on every side and
menaced him with threatening fists. "Beast!" shouted one. "I saw the
Cross in life, when I was young. The unbelief your work taught denies
me the sight of it in death. I curse you!"
"One year in the schools you founded," wailed another, "lost me my
"Why do you stand at the foot of the hill of the Cross, you
hypocrite?" cried another. "You have, in the name of a false science,
encouraged by your gifts, destroyed the Faith of thousands. You shall
not go by The Road of Pain and Hope, even though you might have to
climb till Judgment. You shall go with us."
Screaming in terror, the old man was dragged away. They could hear his
voice in the distance, as the multitude drove him along The Road
"Alas, I understand—now," sadly said Callovan. He gazed at his
friends with some of the pain of his coming solitude in his eyes.
"Good-bye. Shall we meet again?"
Michael answered: "We shall meet again. Your
pain may be very great;
but there is an end. He who sets his foot on this Road has a promise
which makes even pain a blessing."
Callovan was left behind, for Orville and Michael climbed faster than
"Michael," said his master, "I am greatly favored. He was much better
in life than I, yet now he climbs alone."
"You are not favored, sir," answered Michael. "Many pray for you,
because you loved the poor and sheltered and aided them. He has all
that is his, all that belongs to him. You have all that is yours. Do
not forget that we are marching toward the Sun of Justice."
And so they went on, over The Road of Pain and Hope. Orville's feet
were weary and bleeding. His hands and knees were bruised by falls.
The adders stung him and the thorns pierced him. Cold rain chilled him
and warm blasts oppressed him. He was one great pain; but within a
voice that was his own kept saying: "I go to the Cross, I go to the
Cross," and he forgot the suffering. He thought of earth for an
instant; but the thought brought him no longing to return. His breast
was swelling and seemed bursting with a wonderful great Love that made
him content with every tortured step. He even seemed to love the pain;
and he could not stop, nor could he rest for the Flaming Cross that
was drawing him on. He longed for it with a burning and intense
desire. His eyes were wet with the tears of devotion, and his whole
being cried out: "More pain, O Lord! more pain, if only I may sooner
reach the Cross!"
But Michael tried to ease his master's burden.
At last Orville said to him: "How many ages have passed since I died?"
"You have been dead for ten minutes, sir," answered Michael. "The
minutes are as ages in the Land of Death until you reach the Cross,
and then the ages are as minutes."
THEY kept toiling on, but had known no darkness along The Road of Pain
and Hope. Orville's hand sought Michael's, and it opened to draw him
closer. "Michael, my brother," he said, "may you tell me why there is
Michael smiled again when Orville called him "brother" and answered:
"Because, my master, on The Road of Pain and Hope there is no despair;
but it is always night along The Road without Ending."
"Can you tell me, Michael, my brother," said Orville, "Why my eyes
suffer more keenly than all the rest?"
"Because," said Michael, "your eyes, master,
have offended most in
life, and so are now the weakest."
"But my hands have offended, too," said Orville, "and behold, they are
already painless and cured of the bruises."
"Your hands are beautiful and white, master," said Michael, "and were
little punished, because they were often outstretched in charity and
in good deeds."
They had come to the brink of a Chasm which it seemed impossible to
cross, but they hoped, for they knew no despair. Multitudes of people
were before them on the brink of the Chasm looking longingly at the
other side. A few pilgrims were being lifted, by unseen hands, and
carried across the Chasm. Some Power there was to bear them which
neither Orville nor Michael understood. Many, however, had waited
long, while some were taken quickly. Every hand was outstretched
toward the Cross, and it could easily be seen that waiting was a
torture worse than the bruises.
"Alas, Michael," said Orville, "it is harder to suffer the wait than
"Yes, master," Michael replied, "but this is The Chasm of Neglected
Duties. We must stay until those we have fulfilled may come to bear us
across. The one who goes first will await the other on the opposite
"Alas, Michael," said Orville, "you must wait
for me. I have few good
deeds and few duties well done."
Even as he spoke, Michael's face began to shine and his eyes were
melting. Orville looked and saw a little child with great wings, and
beautiful beyond all dreaming. Her gaze was fixed on Michael with the
deepest love and longing. Her voice was like the music of a harp, and
she spoke but one little word:
"Bride! My little Bride," whispered Michael.
Orville knew her, Michael's first-born child, who had died in infancy.
He remembered her funeral. In pity for poor Michael, and feeling a
duty toward his servant, he had followed the coffin to the church and
to the grave, and had borne the expenses of her burial. His friends
wondered at such consideration for one so far beneath him.
"Daddy," whispered the beautiful spirit, "I am to bring you across,
and master, too. God sent me. And, daddy, there are millions of
children who could bring their parents over quickly, if they had only
let them be born. It was you and mother, daddy, who gave me life,
baptism and Heaven. Had I lived only a minute, it would have been
worth it. And, daddy, mother is coming soon, and I am waiting for you
Then the beautiful child touched and supported them, and lo! they were
wafted across The Chasm of Neglected Duties: Michael, because he
the command and made his marriage a Holy Sacrament to fulfil
the law of God; Orville, because he had shown mercy and recognition of
his servant's claim upon him.
Without understanding why, Orville found himself repeating over and
over again the words: "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain
mercy." Michael heard him and turned to say: "Yes, master, and
'Blessed are the clean of heart, for they shall see God'! How well it
was for us that we had the heart of a child to plead our cause when we
came to The Chasm of Neglected Duties."
"MICHAEL," said Orville, after a long and tiresome climb over a steep
part of the Road, "these rocks are sharp and treacherous, and I have
toiled hard and have made but very little progress."
"I know, master," said Michael, "but these rocks are the little faults
of our lives. Such rocks cover the mountain at this spot and are
constantly growing more numerous, yet one meets only one's own. The
Plain is not far away now. We are just reaching it, and these stones
are the only way to it."
"What Plain is it, Michael?" asked Orville.
"It is called, master," said Michael, "The Plain of Sinful Things. It
is between us and the foot of the Cross."
"Is it hard to pass over, Michael?" again asked Orville.
"It is very hard to most men, sir," said Michael. "No one knows how
hard who has not been on it; and yet when one has been over, one
remembers nothing, for all is forgotten when The Flaming Cross is
They stood now at the top of the stones, and on the edge of the vast
Plain, which lay white and scorching before them. Multitudes, as far
as the eye could see, were upon it. They struggled painfully along;
but none stopped to rest, for all faces were turned to The Flaming
Michael took but one step and a great change came over him. Orville
looked at him again and again, but Michael did not seem to notice the
change in himself. His face shone with a marvelous beauty. His
garments became robes of brilliant white. About his head a light
played, the like of which Orville had never seen. It was more wondrous
than dreams of Paradise. His bleeding feet were healed and shone like
his visage. Orville thought that he heard sweet voices about Michael,
but voices which spoke to Michael only.
"Michael, my brother," he said, "what is this; tell me?" and Orville's
voice sounded soft, as if he were praying. "Michael, who are you?"
But Michael only smiled kindly and humbly. "I am none other than your
servant, sir," he answered.
"He who serves, reigns; for his glory is
in the service. I will be with you to the foot of the Cross. In life
you were a good master. You will need me until you reach your own
Master there." Michael pointed to where the Cross shone out over the
Then they went on, but the heat penetrated to Orville's very marrow
and he seemed to faint under it, yet he always kept struggling
forward. The burning sands cooked his bleeding feet, but the anguish
did not halt him. Torrents of tears and sweat rolled down from him,
but his hunger for the Cross made him forget. To his pain-racked body
it felt as if the Cross gave out the great heat, but Orville was more
grateful than ever for it.
"Does this heat really come from the Cross, Michael?" he asked.
"Yes, from the Cross, master," said Michael, "for this is The Plain of
Sinful Things, and the Cross is the Sun of Justice."
Then like a flash Orville began to understand, even as Michael had
understood from the beginning. Michael saw the change in him. His face
became more radiant before he spoke.
"Master," he said, "my service is almost over. It was my prayer
constantly that I could return your goodness to me and mine; but on
earth you were rich and I was poor. Here, master, in The Land of the
Dead, I am rich and you are poor. God let me
make my pilgrimage with
you. The child you buried when I had nothing, bore you over The Chasm
of Neglected Duties, where your hardest lot was to be found. You did
not even see another Chasm, which almost all meet, The Chasm of
Forgotten Things, for the prayers gathered in a little chapel which
you builded in a wilderness, a charity you forgot the day after you
did it, filled up the Chasm before you came to it. Here on The Plain
of Sinful Things we would naturally separate, for I had never wilfully
sinned against God. But you needed me, and He let me stay. Master,
your burden has fallen from you."
It was true. Orville was standing erect, with his eyes looking
straight at The Flaming Cross, which did not blind him. His burden had
vanished, and his face had almost the radiance of Michael's.
"The Cross is near you now, master. Look, It comes toward you. Your
pilgrimage is ending."
Orville could see It coming, gently and slowly. The Plain was now all
behind him, and yet it seemed as if he had scarcely gone over more
than a few yards of it. The harping of a thousand harps was not sweet
enough for the music that filled the air. Like the falling of many
waters in the distance came the promise of coolness to Orville's
parched throat and his burning lips. His breast heaved and he felt his
heart, full of Love, break in his bosom; but with it broke the bond of
Sin, and he knew that he was
dead, indeed, to earth, as out from the
stainéd cover came his purified soul.
The Cross was close to him now. With his new spiritual vision he saw
that in form it was One like himself, but One with eyes that were soft
and mild and full of tenderness, with arms outstretched and
nail-prints like glittering gems upon them, with a wounded side and
out from it a flood pouring which cooled the parched sands, so that
from them the flowers sprang up, full panoplied in color, form and
beauty, and sweetly smelling. Around The Flaming Cross fluttered
countless wings, and childish voices made melody, soft and harmonious
beyond all compare. All else that Orville ever knew vanished before
the glance of the Beloved; faces and forms dearest and nearest, old
haunts and older affections, all were melted into this One Great Love
that is Eternal. The outstretched arms were wrapped around them. The
blood from the wounded side washed all their pains from them. On their
foreheads fell the Kiss of Peace, and Orville and Michael had come