blurr that was the girl on the wall, and his mouth was dumb with pity. For he knew that neither God nor devil calls man to more sacred or sterner trusts than friendship demands. Then Ted’s words came with a rush.
“He never! He never! Oh, Heaven above us, ye’re lyin’! Not Jimmie! Not him!”
“Ut is thruth, bhoy, word and word. He gave ut tu me at the Confessional wi’ the fear ov ould Buggy’s death lyin’ on his sowl tu loose his tongue.”
Ted caught his breath in a half sob, turned suddenly; bending his knee on a chair seat, and bowing his head over his arms on the table. Father Denis coughed, once and twice, and walked over to the window. Through the warm sweet gloaming the sound of laughter and the crack of the bat came sharply. Along the clay bank a merry row of girls clapped the boy who caught the ball and fell on his back with it. Time was when Father Denis had watched Jimmie and Ted Douglas run between the sticks, and had thrown bull’s-eyes as reward.
“If ut had not been Confessional!” he muttered. “Begorra! whoy cud I not take the kickin’ little beast be the scruff ov the neck an’ hand him over tu Murray straight at once?”
The breast of Ted’s coat brushed his shoulder. Ted had come straight from a full day’s draughting on Mains, and the taint and dust of
