"Oh, pshaw! Oh, pshaw! Mr. Shouldice," the young man exclaimed; "there's no division of creed west of Winnipeg. The little priest does all my sick visiting north of the river, and I do his on the south. He's a good preacher, and the finest man at a deathbed I ever saw."
"This is not a deathbed, though, as it happens," Thomas replied, with dignity.
The young minister threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "Can't tell that until it is over—I've been at a few Orange walks down East, you know—took part in one myself once."
"Did you walk?" Thomas asked, brightening.
"No, I ran," the minister said, smiling.
"I thought you said you took part," Thomas snorted, with displeasure.
"So I did, but mine was a minor part. I stood behind the fence and helped the Brennan boys and Patrick Costigan to peg at them!"
"Are ye a Protestant at all?" Thomas roared at him, now thoroughly angry.
"Yes, I am," the minister said, slowly, "and I am something better still; I am a Christian and a Canadian. Are you?"
Thomas beat a hasty retreat.