Dawn of the Golden Promise by BJ Hoff Page A

his taste. Although Sister Louisa had done her best on a number of occasions to point out its usefulness, Morgan’s feelings had changed not at all since his own boyhood experience with the subject.
    â€œOur young people would do far better to devote more time to their own language,” he had argued with the nun. “The Irish is a sturdy, lively language. It has spirit. Latin is weak broth in comparison.”
    â€œ Latin is the language of the Church ,” the nun returned pointedly. “A language of tradition and dignity. It also teaches one to think in a precise and orderly fashion, as well as providing—”
    â€œâ€”an understanding of all other grammatical relationships,” Morgan finished for her. He knew her rebuttal by heart.
    The woman could ever make him feel like an ignorant bostoon !
    Glaring at Barry O’Higgins—or was this one Barnaby?—he offered no mercy as the boy ended yet another pathetic rendering of the daily assignment.
    â€œPerhaps by now you have come to realize that one cannot conjugate esse in the passive voice, Mr. O’Higgins,” he said, leveling a withering glare on the round, freckled face. “Would I be safe in assuming you did not bother to read the assignment before presenting it?”
    Despite the flush that crept over his features, the lad’s expression appeared entirely unrepentant. The quick downward glance didn’t deceive Morgan for a moment. The O’Higgins twins took nothing seriously until threatened with corporal punishment.
    He sighed, wishing not for the first time that he had followed his earlier instincts and sent the both of them packing long ago. In truth, they owed their status as students to Sister Louisa, who insisted that even the O’Higgins twins could be both tamed and taught.
    When the devil takes a holiday , Morgan thought, eyeing the difficult scholar. “Well, then, Barry—”
    â€œâ€”Barnaby, sir—”
    â€œVery well, Barnaby—you may add to today’s exercises the three sets in the appendix for chapter five, to be recited tomorrow.”
    â€œBut you said no assignments today, sir!” the boy burst out. “It being the mistress’s birthday and all.”
    Morgan lowered his eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose and stared at the boy. Finally he sighed. “So I did. Very well, then.”
    The boy beamed at him.
    â€œBut you will be prepared by Saturday morning,” Morgan cautioned.
    â€œOh, I will, sir!”
    â€œAnd you’d best set your mind on taking a more serious attitude toward your studies, else—”
    A knock on the door interrupted him. Morgan motioned the boy back to his chair as Sandemon entered the room.
    â€œBegging your pardon, sir, but there is a gentleman to see you.”
    Morgan frowned. It was only midmorning, early for a caller.
    â€œA gentleman?”
    â€œMr. Cassidy, sir,” replied the black man.
    â€œCassidy?” Morgan caught his breath, then tossed his grade book into the top drawer of the desk. “Show him into the library. I’ll see him at once!”

    As he propelled his chair into the library, Morgan fought down a wave of excitement and apprehension.
    Something in the confident way Cassidy was standing—even though his smile appeared somewhat guarded—made Morgan’s heart jump with anticipation.
    They shook hands, and Morgan wheeled himself behind the desk. For a moment he studied the big white-haired man across from him. “So, Frank—” He motioned Cassidy to take a chair. “What news do you bring me?”
    â€œI do have news at last,” Cassidy said, lowering himself into the chair. “Though it’s taken a terrible long time, I know.”
    Morgan swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “Tell me,” he said, his voice strained.
    Cassidy knotted his big hands together on his knees as he leaned forward. Never one to dissemble,