Kathleen O'Connor exercised a remarkable influence on the old lady. Mrs. Quirk had needed a companion, and an interest in her new life; these she found in Kathleen. Together they slowly transformed the house, Samuel Quirk grumbling and protesting at each innovation, while he aided them the while with his purse. In a phaeton drawn by a quiet old pony, they travelled about the district, never missing a daily visit to the Catholic Church.
"I go out to visit my friends. Shall I miss calling on the best Friend ever I had?" Mrs. Quirk asked Kathleen. "In Collingwood I never missed the morning Mass, nor the afternoon visit. Here it is too far to go to Mass every day, but the Good Lord would miss me if I did not come once in the day to see Him."
"If I am not good, it will not be your fault," laughed Kathleen.
"It will be nobody's fault but your own; but you couldn't help being good. Didn't Father Healy tell me——."
"Hush!" cried Kathleen; "you must not give Father Healy's secrets away."
At the church gates they held a daily conference with Molly Healy. She had interested Mrs. Quirk in her gamins, and was accustomed to draw upon the old lady's purse when the Presbytery funds were low, or Father Healy obdurate to her appeals.
Molly Healy acted as sacristan in the church, and Father Healy was accustomed to say:
"If you attended to everything as you do to the Altar, you would be a treasure to the husband that came seeking you."
"It's not many are doing that," replied the girl. "I could not count them on my fingers—because, even I can't count what does not exist."
"How many would you be expecting at eighteen? You are but a child," he answered. "Well, the Altar is a credit to you. You make the brass shine as if it were gold."