self on the edge of a churn filled with buttermilk, but everyone of them kept wondhering eyes fastened on the priest.
And to tell the truth, Father Cassidy at first was more scornful and unpolite than he need be.
“I suppose,” says his Riverence, “you do be worrying a good deal about the place you’re going to afther the Day of Judgment?” he says, kind of mocking.
“Arrah, now,” says the King, taking the pipe from his mouth and staring hard at the clargyman, “there’s more than me ought to be studying that question. There’s a parish priest I knew, and he’s not far from here, who ate mate on a fast day, three years ago come next Michaelmas, who should be a good lot intherested in that same place,” says the King.
The laughing and tittering that follyed this hit lasted a minute.
Father Cassidy turned scarlet. “When I ate it I forgot the day!” he cried.
“That’s what you tould,” says the King, smiling sweet, “but that saying don’t help your chanst much. Maybe you failed to say your prayers a year ago
