is curious now. But you always find things in unexpected quarters.
But you're sure 't will do?"

"Quite sure. By the way, what _is_ the _Kampaner Thal?_"

He looked squarely at me.

"'Pon my word, Father Dan, I confess I sometimes think you are rather
fond of a joke."

"Come along, never mind," I replied. "After air and water, the power of
a pleasant and kind word is the best and cheapest thing God gives us,
His children."

CHAPTER XVI

VIOLENT CONTRASTS

Christmas Day was a day of undiluted triumph for Father Letheby. There
were great surprises in store for me. That is one of my curate's few
faults--is it a fault?--that he is inclined to be dramatic. As he says,
he hates to speak of a thing until it is beyond the reach of failure. Of
all criticisms, the one he most dreads is, "I told you so." And so, on
this Christmas morning, I had a series of mild, pleasant shocks, that
made the bright, crisp, frosty, sunny morning all the more pleasant. It
was a slight, because expected, surprise to see Captain Campion at the
altar rails. He appeared at eight o'clock Mass. Thanks be to God! I
manage still to use the sublime privilege given by the Church that
morning, of being allowed to celebrate three times. I have not omitted
it for fifty years. When I shall fail to say my three Christmas Masses,
then you may take up your _Exequiae_, and practise the _Requiem aeternam_
for poor Daddy Dan.

Well, I had said the first two Masses, commencing at seven o'clock. It
is a curious experience, that of seven o'clock Mass on Christmas
morning. The groping through the dark, with just the faintest aurora on
the horizon, the smell of the frost in the air, the crunching of icicles
under one's feet, the shadowy figures, making their way with some
difficulty to the church, the salutations of the people: "Is that you,
Mick?" "'Tis, Mrs. Grady; a happy Christmas to you, ma'am." "The same to
you, Mick, and manny of them." "Good morning, Mrs. Mulcahy; 't is a fine
Christmas morning, glory be to God." "'T is indeed, ma'am, glory be to
His Holy Name." "Hurry up, Bess, you'll never catch the priest at the
altar." "Yerra, sure, haven't we three Masses to-day." The more polite
people said: "The compliments of the saison to you, ma'am." "The same to
you, sir; may we be all alive and happy this time twelvemonth."

Well, just as I commenced the hymn of the angels at my first Mass, there
was a crash of music and singing from the gallery over