“I said that you did not tell him the whole truth.”
“Small matter for that. It was all he asked for, and it’s better plazed he is than if it were more. He’s a lying ould thing himself, any way!”
“Why, Annorah?”
“Ye may well open yer eyes. Did he not tell me last Sunday that you, miss, with your sweet voice and comforting ways, were jist a temptation placed in me way, by the ould inimy himself?”
“I, Annorah? What does he know of me?”
“Nothing at all, savin’ that ye are a saint, and he an ould—”
“Stop, stop, Annorah. We must not speak evil of any one. I hope that you were civil in your reply.”
“Civil! indade I was. I said, ‘Ye should teach your flock better than to tempt honest people.’ ‘It’s gettin’ impudent ye are,’ says he; ‘ye’ll be turnin’ heretic next. You must be seen to and taken care of,’ says he. ‘Bad luck to ye!’ says I; ‘when ye sees me two eyes light me to confession again, ye may take care o’ me and welcome.’”
“And shall you not go again?”
“Never again.” Annorah saw the shadow raise its hand threateningly. “No, indade. Where’s the use o’ telling all ye know to an ould creature like him? Doesn’t the blessed Book say that no man can come to the Father but only through Jesus Christ? An’ shure, the great Father in heaven is angered to see me kneel down before that biggest o’ scamps, when I should be praying to himself. I’ll do it no more.”