A PERSUASIVE TONGUE 



wan that has been taken a foin, sthrapping young girl, one 

 of the foinest, I might say, in this parish. . . . Not an ail 

 on her a few days ago, and where is she now ? " 

 He jerked his thumb terribly through the little glass window 

 at the side. The congregation enjoyed it enormously. 

 There was a sucking of breaths, a clacking of tongues and 

 subdued groans of approbation / and a good deal of rock- 

 ing backwards and forwards on the part of Judy, who as 

 usual squatted on her heels at the edge of the altar rails. 

 But, poor little wretch that I was, how I quaked ! 

 The second curate was an excellent young man, of the 

 sturdy type familiar to many Irish districts in those days. 

 The people called him " rale wicked/' and loved him pro- 

 portionately" wicked/' in their terminology, having a 

 very different significance from the word used in its English 

 sense. " Wicked " to them refers but to the flame of the 

 fire of zeal/ and they like to feel it scorch them. 

 When from the altar steps he threatened by name certain 

 recalcitrant black sheep of his congregation who were 

 neglecting their Easter duty, to be " afther them with a 

 horsewhip if they didn't present themselves ' at the box ' so 

 soon as he had his breakfast swallowed/' there was a 

 thrill of admiration through the chapel. That was being 

 " wicked " after a fashion they all appreciated. And when, 

 after his breakfast had been gulped down, he duly appeared 

 with a horsewhip, the results were immediate and excellent. 

 His morning meal, in parenthesis, got ready for him by a 

 neighbouring farmer's wife and served to him in the little 

 damp sacristy, invariably consisted of three boiled eggs, 

 besides the usual pot of poisonous strong tea. Three 

 eggs is the number consecrated to the cleric in Ireland. 



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