"Poor Father Tom!" I exclaimed mentally, "this is a change." But I said nothing; but sent out my razors in the afternoon to be set.
There was a letter from the Bishop. It ran thus:—
My dear Father Dan:—I have thought it necessary to make a change of curates in your parish. I have removed Father Laverty on promotion; and I am sending you one of the most promising young priests in my diocese. He has just returned from England, where he won golden opinions from the people and the priests. I may mention that he was an exhibitioner under the Intermediate System; and took a gold medal for Greek. Perhaps you will stimulate him to renew his studies in that department, as he says he has got quite rusty from want of time to study. Between you both, there will be quite an Academia at Kilronan.
Yours in Christ.
"Clever, my Lord," I soliloquized, "clever!" Then, as the "gold medal in Greek" caught my eye again, I almost let the letter fall to the ground; and I thought of his Lordship's words: "I can send him a curate who will break his heart in six weeks." But as I looked over my cup at Father Letheby, I couldn't believe that there was any lurking diablerie there. He looked in the morning a frank, bright, cheery, handsome fellow. But, will he do?
CHAPTER II
A RETROSPECT
Long ago, when I used to read an occasional novel, if the author dared to say: "But I am anticipating; we must go back here twenty years to understand the thread of this history," I invariably flung down the book in disgust. The idea of taking you back to ancient history when you were dying to know what was to become of the yellow-haired Blumine, or the grand chivalrous Roland. Well, I am just going to commit the very same sin; and, dear reader, be patient just a little while.
It is many years since I was appointed to the parish of Kilronan. It happened in this wise. The Bishop, the old man, sent for me; and said, with what I would call a tone of pity or contempt, but he was incapable of either, for he was the essence of charity and sincerity:—