Charred Wood
y to notice it, for Ann never had learned how to conceal her thoughts. Good, pious, and faithful she was, but with an inherent love of gossip. She h
n was here, y
t was it
g b'y Jack, the good-fer-no
e wants
im the
why didn't you
wid her. The other is that yer Reverence has sp'iled more good pledges o
ew she had made considerable pr
. He'll be sober then," said the pries
ther case. "The
his book. Here was di
rganist, Molly Wil
nsulte
dn't appreciate her mus
I d
t tell her so
had no time to tell Miss Wilso
r worse. She's got to be soft-soap
ke that. I don't like it, a
Reverence should have left
nn
here three months ago? An' I wid a dinner fit
ase,
y should he hurt ye now? I could tell
his feet, and Ann was afr
eriors. The Bishop is a great and a good man. He knows what he
a word ag'in, even if I do think he treated ye dirthy. But I hope ye wo
this. There, there, don't cry. I don't wa
e out if it hurte
u would. Don't mind a spoiled dinner.
r Murray could not help being amused again. Ann was alway
l get on somehow. Is
y's sick
Holy Oils and go down
wouldn't have come back so hard
ted a whole gallon of Holy Oil anoin
the unthought irreve
very sick. Get me my hat. I left it in my bedr
t the door, with anoth
to drop in to Killimaga on yer way back. Y
save you a little work, and there a
he street. Ann looked afte
f her spoiled tirade came to her, as she thought of her ruined dinner and the Bishop. "What did he do that fer to a man who was the Vicar Gineral? B
al feminine. It is the eternal maternal that fights and hates, without knowi
c taking his ease by the table.
he Father?
pleased anticipation of the things she could safely say
warding off temptations to break the Commandments. He b
"What's biting
Brinn, the man that runs the
no good
Pythias ball, and was worrited about a fancy suit to wear; fer it appears that thim that goes must be rigged
oma
he Father had him. 'Ye want to be disguised?' he said. 'That I do,' said Brinn, takin' off his hat to mop
d the old man the cup of
e of the thracks to see the Widow McCabe's Jacky about servin' Mass on week days. Roberts comes along with his snarlin' little pup, and the imp bit at Rover's heels. Rover med wan bite at him, and he ran off yelpin
et in an instant. "What's that? He sai
an answer. 'Don't let yer bad timper make ye thry to commit suicide, Mr. Roberts,'
say. "An' he says he's Scotch. 'Tisn't
lked quickly toward the railway, for McCarthy lived "over the trac
you, Elder,
Mr. Sturgis was a justice of the peace and the wag of the town. He always insist
my new card?" He fumbled for one in his pocket
NATHAN
e of t
sive matrimoni
d promptly, accurat
ate. Oscul
our Mill, which
y smooth-running
ushine is guaran
delicate
turgis," laughed the priest. "But unless I am much mistaken, you didn't sto
et a bit and I'll tell you." The Justice became serious. "E
im only s
lady at Killimaga, who goes to your church. I guess the constable told it to him. I gave him no satisfaction because there was nothing in
Sturgis," he said. "I would like to save the lady from annoyance, and will see Mr.
ured the justice. "He printed the
toward the rectory in deep thought, quite evidently wor