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