lmes, an' William Brennan an' Miss McGee?" I
asked. "Them's th' ones that think as I do--I mane I think as they do!"

"No, 'deed I'm not as wise as aany of thim, but standin' outside a wee
bit I can see things that can't be seen inside. Forby they haave no
special pathway t' God that's shut t' me, nor yer oul father nor Willie
Withero!"

Sometimes Jamie took a hand. Once when he thought Anna was going to cry,
in an argument, he wheeled around in his seat and delivered himself.

"I'll tell ye, Anna, that whelp needs a good argyment wi' th' tongs!
Jist take thim an' hit 'im a skite on the jaw wi' thim an' I'll say,
'Amen.'"

"That's no clinch to an argyment," I said, "an thruth is thruth!"

"Aye, an' tongs is tongs! An' some o' ye young upstarts whin ye get a
dickey on an' a choke-me-tight collar think yer jist ready t' sit down
t' tay wi' God!"

Anna explained and gave me more credit than was due me. So Jamie ended
the colloquy by the usual cap to his every climax.

"Well, what th' ---- do I know about thim things, aanyway. Let's haave a
good cup o' tay an' say no more about it!"

The more texts I knew the more fanatical I became. And the more of a
fanatic I was the wider grew the chasm that divided me from my mother. I
talked as if I knew "every saint in heaven and every divil in hell."

She was more than patient with me, though my spiritual conceit must have
given her many a pang. Antrim was just beginning to get accustomed to my
new habiliments of boots, boiled linen and hat when I left to "push my
fortune" in other parts. My enthusiasm had its good qualities too, and
she was quick to recognize them, quicker than to notice its blemishes.
My last hours in the town--on the eve of my first departure--I spent
with her. "I feel about you, dear," she said, laughing, "as Micky Free
did about the soul of his father in Purgatory. He had been payin' for
masses for what seemed to him an uncommonly long time. 'How's th' oul
bhoy gettin' on?' Micky asked the priest. 'Purty well, Micky, his head
is out.' 'Begorra, thin, I know th' rist ov 'im will be out soon--I'll
pay for no more masses!' Your head is up and out from the bottom of th'
world, and I haave faith that ye'll purty soon be all out, an' some day
ye'll get the larger view, for ye'll be in a larger place an' ye'll
haave seen more of people an' more of the world."

I have two letters of that period. One I wrote her from Jerusalem in the
year 1884. As I read the y