e. Agatha, though the priestly calling seemed all they had in
common. The first was small of stature, thin of face, looking like a
mediaeval, though he was a modern, saint; the other tall, well filled
out like an epicure, yet not even Bonhomme Careau, the nearest
approach to a scoffer in the two parishes, ever went so far as to call
the Cure of Ste. Agatha by such an undeserved name, since the good,
fat priest had the glaring fault of stinginess which all the country
knew but never mentioned. They loved him too much to mention his
faults. He was good to the sick and faithful to their interests,
though--"_Il etait fort tendu, lui, mais bien gentil, tout de meme_."
Besides, the Cure of St. Eustace was _too_ generous. Every beggar got
a meal from him and some of them money, till he spoiled the whole
tribe of them and they became so bold--well there was serious talk of
protesting to the Cure of St. Eustace about his charities.

The garden of St. Eustace was the pleasantest place on earth for both
the cronies after Vespers had been sung in their parishes on Sunday
afternoons, and the three miles covered from the Presbytery of Ste.
Agatha to the Presbytery of St. Eustace. On a fine day it was
delightful to sit under the great trees and see the flowers and chat
and smoke, with just the faint smell of the evening meal stealing out
of Margot's kingdom. It was a standing rule that this meal was to be
taken together on Sunday and the visit prolonged far into the
night--until old Pierre came with the worn-looking buggy and carried
his master off about half-past ten. _"Grand Dieu. Quelle
dissipation!"_ Only on this night did either one stay up after nine.

What experiences were told these Sunday nights! Big and authoritative
were the words of M. le Cure de Ste. Agatha. Stern and unbending were
his comments and the accounts of his week's doings. And his friend's?
_Bien_, they were not much, but "they made him a little pleasure to
narrate"--what he would tell of them.

This night they were talking of beggars, a new phase of the old
question. They had only beggars in Quebec, mild old fellows mostly. A
few pennies would suffice for them, and when they got old there were
always the good Sisters of the Poor to care for them. There were no
tramps.

"This fellow was different, _mon ami_," the Cure de St. Eustace was
saying, "he would almost bother you yourself with all your experience.
He came from over the line--from the States, and he