"The last news we had of him was about a month ago, and he said he hoped to be admitted into the minor orders."
And a few days afterwards he heard that Catherine had decided to go into a convent.
"So this is the way it has ended," he thought. And he seemed no longer fit for work on the farm. He was seen about the road smoking, and sometimes he went down to the ball-alley, and sat watching the games in the evening. It was thought that he would take to drink, but he took to fishing instead, and was out all day in his little boat on the lake, however hard the wind might blow. The fisherman said he had seen him in the part of the lake where the wind blew the hardest, and that he could hardly pull against the waves.
"His mind is away. I don't think he'll do any good in this country," his father said.
And the old man was very sad, for when James was gone he would have no one, and he did not feel he would be able to work the farm for many years longer. He and James used to sit smoking on either side of the fireplace, and Pat Phelan knew that James was thinking of America all the while. One evening, as they were sitting like this, the door was opened suddenly.
"Peter!" said James. And he jumped up from the fire to welcome his brother.
"It is good for sore eyes to see the sight of you again," said Pat Phelan. "Well, tell us the news. If we had known you were coming we would have sent the cart to meet you."
As Peter did not answer, they began to think that something must have happened. Perhaps Peter was not going to become a priest after all, and would stay at home with his father to learn to work the farm.
"You see, I did not know myself until yesterday. It was only yesterday that—"
"So you are not going to be a priest? We are glad to hear that, Peter."