In the excitement of the moment he forgot his own imperfections and desired to admonish them.
"I think you had better let me speak to them," said Father John. "You are Ned Kavanagh," he said, "and you are Mary Byrne, I believe. Now, I don't know you all, for I am getting an old man, and I don't often come up this way. But notwithstanding my age, and the heat of the day, I have come up, for I have heard that you have not acted as good Catholics should. I don't doubt for a moment that you intended to get married, but you have, I fear, been guilty of a great sin, and you've set a bad example."
"We were on our way to your reverence now," said Mary. "I mean to his reverence."
"Well," said Father Tom, "you are certainly taking your time over it, lying here half asleep under the trees."
"We hadn't the money," said Mary, "it wasn't our fault."
"Didn't I say I'd marry you for nothing?"
"But sure, your reverence, that's only a way of speaking."
"There's no use lingering here," said Father Tom. "Ned, you took the pledge the day before yesterday, and yesterday you were tipsy."
"I may have had a drop of drink in me, your reverence. Pat Connex passed me the mug of porter and I forgot myself."
"And once," said the priest, "you tasted the porter you thought you could go on taking it."