There was a silence of some minutes after the priest left the house. It was broken by the most timid of the party.
“Afther all, Biddy, my heart misgives me. Of what use are all the prayers on the beads, the Hail Marys, and the penance, the fasting from meat on Fridays, or even the blessed salt o’ our baptism, if we anger the praste, and he refuse to give us the holy oil at the last? What will become o’ us then?”
“What can a wicked ould praste do to help us? It’s God alone can strengthen us then. I wouldn’t give a penny for the oil. It’s a betther way, darlin’, that God has provided for us. It’s a brave story that Phelim is waiting to read to us. There’s thruth and sense in it, too, ye will find.—It’s a fine counthree is this, Masther Barry, and a free,” added Biddy, turning to a stout man, who, with scarcely a whole article in his apparel, was lounging in the shade of a corner.
“Thrue for ye,” he replied,—“though it’s little I get out of it, barrin’ the sup o’ whisky wi’ my supper.”
“But ye might—the more shame it is. Ye are weel-conditioned and hearty. It’s no the counthree is to blame, neighbour, nor Katy indade. She works night and day for ye an’ the childer. Ye are better here than over the sae.”
“Oh, then, I don’t know. When I came to this counthree, I had never a rag to me back, an’ now, faith, I’m nothing but rags. A fine, illigant counthree!”
“Lave the liquor alone, Peter Barry, and ye may have the best of the land for yerself. An’ ye would give up the dhrinking, a better lad could not be found, nor a handsomer.”
“It’s too sthrong for me. It’s many a day have I given it up for ever, and been drunk as a beast in an hour. But to-night, says Katy to me, ‘It’s the heretic Bible as is read at Mrs. Dillon’s has a cure in it for weak sinners like you, Peter dear.’ So I came to hear a bit o’ the Bible, an’ ye plaze.”
So Kirwan’s Letters were laid aside, and a New Testament brought out. Phelim read very poorly, and was often obliged to spell over the long words, and did not always succeed in giving the correct pronunciation; but no fault was found by his eager listeners. He read how Christ healed the leper, and poor Peter Barry found in the story a word of encouragement for him. He read of the Saviour’s gracious compassion for the hungering multitude; and his ignorant auditors praised the divine Being who so sympathized with mortal infirmities. Phelim was often interrupted by remarks or approving comments, but these in no way diminished the interest of the sacred story.