ted, "and unless you wish to spend an
hour at the constabulary barracks, you must seek your society here in an
occasional _conversazione_ with some old woman over her cross-door, or a
chat with the boys at the forge--"

"But I have got my books, Father," he said, "and I assure you I want
some time to brush up the little I have ever read. I haven't opened a
serious book for seven years."

This was candid; and it made me warm towards him.

"Then," I said, "there's no use in preaching fine English sermons, they
won't be understood. And you must be prepared for many a night call to
mountain cabins, the only access to which is through a bog or the bed of
a mountain stream; and your income will reach the princely sum of sixty
pounds per annum. But," I added hastily, "you'll have plenty of turf,
and oats and hay for your horse, an occasional pound of butter, and
you'll have to export all the turkeys you'll get at Christmas."

"You have painted the lights and shadows, Father," he said cheerily,
"and I am prepared to take them together. I am sure I'll like the poor
people. It won't be my fault."

Then my heart rose up to this bright, cheery, handsome fellow, who had
no more pride in him than a barelegged gossoon; and who was prepared to
find his pleasure amongst such untoward surroundings. But I didn't like
to let myself out as yet. I had to keep up some show of dignity.

My education commenced next morning. He had served my mass, and said his
own in my little oratory; and he came down to breakfast, clean, alert,
happy. I asked him how he had slept.

"Right well," he said, "I never woke till I heard some far off bell in
the morning."

"The six o'clock bell at the great house," I replied. "But where are you
going?"

"Nowhere, Sir," said he, "I understood I was to remain over Sunday."

"But you're shaved?" said I.

"Oh yes," he said, with the faintest ripple of a smile. "I couldn't
think of sitting down to breakfast, much less of celebrating the Holy
Sacrifice, without shaving."

"And you have a clean collar. Do you mean to say you change your collar
every morning?"

"Certainly, Sir," he said.

"Poor Father Tom!" I exclaimed mentally, "this is a change." But I said
nothing; but sent out my razors in the afternoon to be set.

There was a letter from the Bishop. It ran thus:--

My dear Father Dan:--I have thought it necessary to make a change
of curates in your parish. I have removed Father Laverty on