" The boy was evidently accustomed to the priest's
Celtic pleasantries. A little, appreciative grin was all the attention
the insinuation of pedantry received.
Lorison, to have saved his life, could not have put to the child one
of those vital questions that were wildly beating about, unanswered,
in his own brain. The little fellow was very like Norah; he had the
same shining hair and candid eyes.
"Oh, Father Denny," cried the boy, suddenly, "I forgot to tell you!
Sister is not going away at night any more! She told me so when she
kissed me good night as she was leaving. And she said she was so
happy, and then she cried. Wasn't that queer? But I'm glad; aren't
you?"
"Yes, lad. And now, ye omadhaun, go to sleep, and say good night; we
must be going."
"Which shall I do first, Father Denny?"
"Faith, he's caught me again! Wait till I get the sassenach into the
annals of Tageruach, the hagiographer; I'll give him enough of the
Irish idiom to make him more respectful."
The light was out, and the small, brave voice bidding them good night
from the dark room. They groped downstairs, and tore away from the
garrulity of Mother Geehan.
Again the priest steered them through the dim ways, but this time in
another direction. His conductor was serenely silent, and Lorison
followed his example to the extent of seldom speaking.
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