“Gentlemen,” said Bob, “I feel disposed to sleep a little. It is likely that a few minutes' rest may strengthen my weak body, and clear my mind for the consolations of religion, which you are both so beautifully prepared to give me. I feel rather drowsy, so I'll close my eyes for a few minutes, and doze a little.”
Bob closed his eyes for about four mortal hours and a half, during which time our two worthy gentlemen sat at his bed-side with the most exemplary patience. At length he opened his eyes, and inquired for his daughter Fanny, who had been sent for Father Roche; to her he whispered a few words, after which she went out, but almost immediately returned. He looked at her inquiringly, and she answered:
“Yes, just as I expected—in a few minutes.”
“Gentlemen,” said Bob, “I am much aisier now; but I am at a loss whether to to prepared for heaven by you, Mr. Lucre, or by Father M'Cabe.”
“Beatty,” said Lucre, “you have have access to the Bible, and possessing, as you do, and as you must, the Scriptural knowledge, gained from that sacred book, to die in the church which worships crucifixes and images would leave you without hope or excuse.”
“Ah!” said Bob, “you are sound in point of doctrine. No man is more orthodox than you.”
“Bob,” said the priest, “you know what the Council of Trent says:— 'There is but one Church, one Faith, and one Baptism'—if you die out of that church, which is ours, woe betide you. No, Bob, there is no hope for you if you die an apostate, Bob.”
“Ah,” said Bob, “you can send it home, Father M'Cabe.”
“Bob,” said the wife, “die a True Blue, and don't shame the family.”
“There is but a blue look up for you if you do,” said Father M'Cabe.