e when we came out----"

"But he's an Orangeman, Crofton, isn't he?" said Mr. Power.

"'Course he is," said Mr. Kernan, "and a damned decent Orangeman too. We
went into Butler's in Moore Street--faith, was genuinely moved, tell you
the God's truth--and I remember well his very words. Kernan, he said, we
worship at different altars, he said, but our belief is the same. Struck
me as very well put."

"There's a good deal in that," said Mr. Power. "There used always be
crowds of Protestants in the chapel where Father Tom was preaching."

"There's not much difference between us," said Mr. M'Coy.

"We both believe in----"

He hesitated for a moment.

"... in the Redeemer. Only they don't believe in the Pope and in the
mother of God."

"But, of course," said Mr. Cunningham quietly and effectively, "our
religion is the religion, the old, original faith."

"Not a doubt of it," said Mr. Kernan warmly.

Mrs. Kernan came to the door of the bedroom and announced:

"Here's a visitor for you!"

"Who is it?"

"Mr. Fogarty."

"O, come in! come in!"

A pale, oval face came forward into the light. The arch of its fair
trailing moustache was repeated in the fair eyebrows looped above
pleasantly astonished eyes. Mr. Fogarty was a modest grocer. He had
failed in business in a licensed house in the city because his financial
condition had constrained him to tie himself to second-class distillers
and brewers. He had opened a small shop on Glasnevin Road where, he
flattered himself, his manners would ingratiate him with the housewives
of the district. He bore himself with a certain grace, complimented
little children and spoke with a neat enunciation. He was not without
culture.

Mr. Fogarty brought a gift with him, a half-pint of special whisky. He
inquired politely for Mr. Kernan, placed his gift on the table and sat
down with the company on equal terms. Mr. Kernan appreciated the gift
all the more since he was aware that there was a small account for
groceries unsettled between him and Mr. Fogarty. He said:

"I wouldn't doubt you, old man. Open that, Jack, will you?"

Mr. Power again officiated. Glasses were rinsed and five small
measures of whisky were poured out. This new influence enlivened the
conversation. Mr. Fogarty, sitting on a small area of the chair, was
specially interested.

"Pope Leo XIII," said Mr. Cunningham, "was one of the lights of the age.
His great idea, you know, was the union of the Latin and G