"No, not if it is the will of God. God has specially chosen the Irish race to convert the world, no race has provided so many missionaries, no race has preached the gospel more frequently to the heathen; and once we realise that we have to die, and very soon, and that the Catholic Church is the only true church, our ideas about race and nationality fade from us. They come to seem very trite and foolish. We are here, not to make life successful and triumphant, but to gain heaven. That is the truth, and it is to the honour of the Irish people that they have been selected by God to preach the truth, even though they lose their nationality in preaching it. I do not expect you to accept these opinions. I know that you think very differently, but living here I have learned to acquiesce in the will of God."
The priest stopped speaking suddenly, like one ashamed of having expressed himself too openly, and soon after we were met by a number of peasants, and the priest's attention was engaged; the inspector of the relief works had to speak to him; and I did not see him again until dinner-time.
"You have given them hope," he said.
This was gratifying to hear, and the priest sat listening while I told him of the looms already established in different parts of the country. We talked about half an hour, and then, like one who suddenly remembers, the priest got up and fetched his knitting.
"Do you knit every evening?"
"I have got into the way of knitting lately; it passes the time."
"But do you never read?" I asked, and looked towards the book-shelves.
"I used to read a great deal. But there wasn't a woman in the parish that could turn a heel properly, so that I had to learn to knit."
"Do you like knitting better than reading?" I asked, feeling ashamed of my curiosity.
"I have constantly to attend sick-calls, and if one is absorbed in a book one experiences a certain reluctance in putting it aside."