“That will do, Peter,” said O’Brien; “we have the cream of it I think.”
We left the house and walked down to the boat. “Surely. O’Brien,” said I, “this should not be permitted?”
“He’s no worse than his neighbours,” replied O’Brien, “and perhaps does less harm. I admired the rascal’s ingenuity; he gave his flock what, in Ireland, we should call a pretty broad hint.”
“Yes, there was no mistaking him; but is he a licensed preacher?”
“Very little license in his preaching, I take it; no, I suppose he has had a call.”
“A call!—what do you mean?”
“I mean that he wants to fill his belly. Hunger is a call of nature, Peter.”
“He seems to want a good many things, if we were to judge by his catalogue: what a pity it is that these poor people are not better instructed.”
“That they never will be, Peter, while there is, what may be called, free trade in religion.”
“You speak like a Catholic, O’Brien.”