"Kind, my Lord, always kind and thoughtful," I murmured.
Then I cut the strings of the parcel. It contained the rochet, mozzetta, and biretta of a canon, and was a present from some excellent Franciscan nuns, to whom I had been formerly chaplain, and who were charitable enough not to have forgotten me. So there they were at last, the dream of half a lifetime. God help us! what children we are! Old and young, it's all the same. I suppose that is why God so loves us.
I took up the dainty purpled and ermined mozzetta. It was soft, and beautiful, and fluffy. I could fold the entire rochet in the palms of my hands, the lace work was so fine and exquisite. I put them down with a sigh. My mind was fully made up.
Hannah came in, and took in the situation at a glance.
"Did he give 'em to ye at last?"
"He did, Hannah. How do you like them?"
"'Twas time for him! Lor', they're beautiful!"
"Hannah," I said, "have you any camphor or lavender in the house?"
She looked at me suspiciously.
"I have," she said. "What for? Aren't you going to wear them?"