it, and he addressed Mark as though
he needed him and knew he could count upon him.

"My friend, have you ever read Thomas a Kempis?"

"No, Father, I have not."

"It is a pity, indeed; there is so much of consolation in him when we
need it. Listen to this quotation that I have learned by heart: 'If
thou thinkest rightly and considerest things in truth, thou oughtest
never to be so much dejected and troubled for any adversity; but rather
to rejoice and give thanks, yea, to account this as a special subject
of joy, that afflicting thee with sorrows I do not spare thee.' It is
Christ speaking, and the quotation is from His _Imitation_." Then
Father Murray made a gesture as though he were trying to throw it all
off.

"Come in, Mark. The other guests did not intend to stay. The Bishop
has never broken bread with me since--but let that pass. Come in and
eat. It is bitter bread, my friend, bitter bread; but, alas, I must
eat it."

And Mark thought of his own bitter bread, too, as he reentered the
rectory.

CHAPTER VIII

FATHER MURRAY OF SIHASSET

Ann bustled into Father Murray's study next morning with something on
her mind. When Ann had something on her mind the pastor was always
quite likely 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 had loyal feelings to express this morning, but long
experience as the housekeeper of priests had made Ann wary of
approaching a subject too abruptly.

"Mrs. Thompson was here, yer Reverence."

"Yes? What was it this time?"

"Sure, 'twas about her young b'y Jack, the good-fer-nothin'. He's
drinkin' ag'in."

"And she wants me to--"

"Give him the pledge."

"All right; but why didn't you bring him in?"

"Well, wan raison is that he isn't sober yet and she couldn't bring him
wid her. The other is that yer Reverence has sp'iled more good pledges
on that lad than would kape the Suprame Coort in business for tin
years."

Father Murray smiled and Ann knew she had made considerable progress,
but not quite enough yet.

"I'll go and see him to-morrow morning. He'll be sober then," said the
priest, looking down longingly at his work.

But Ann had another case. "The choir's busted."

Father Murray put down his book. Here was disaster indeed. "Again?"

"Yes, ag'in. The organist, Molly Wilson, is insulted."

"Who insulted her?"

"Ye did. She says ye did