Eventually, pauperized but still submissive to the decrees from on high, he landed at the county poorhouse. The overseer sent him out one day to plow a potato field. A thunderstorm came up but was passing by when without warning a bolt of lightning descended from the sky. It melted the ploughshare, stripped most of his garments from him, singed off his beard and mustache, branded him on the back with the initials of an utter stranger, and hurled him through a brush-fence.
Slowly he got upon his knees, clasped his hands and raised his eyes toward heaven. Then, for the first time, the worm turned:
“Lord,” he said, “this is gittin’ to be plum’ rediculous!”
§ 258 A Slight for the Kellys
Somebody was reminded the other day—and, by the same token reminded me—of one that I hadn’t heard for at least ten years. The best authorities agree that a good story stands revival every five years.
As the tale runs, the parish priest called on a well-to-do parishioner named Kelly, for a substantial contribution to the fund for purchasing a bronze bell for the church. Mr. Kelly was in a generous mood. He gave a larger sum than any other member of the congregation gave.
The bell was purchased and installed. Meeting Mr. Kelly a few days later, the clergyman said:
“What do you think of the new bell?”
“I’m sorry I gave a cint,” said Mr. Kelly, shortly. “If I’d known what was goin’ to happen ye’d have had no money from me.”
“You astonish me,” said the Father. “What’s wrong with it?”