hairt o' the
community that's a-committin' more crimes ag'in uz in here than all of
us together has iver committed outside. Aw!--Bring us a better airticle
of yer own justice ferst--I doan't cayre how _crool_ it is, so ut's
_justice_--an' _thin_ preach about God's mercy. I'll listen to ye."

Ristofalo had kept his eyes for the most of the time on the floor,
smiling sometimes more and sometimes less. Now, however, he raised them
and nodded to the clergyman. He approved all that had been said. The
Irishman went and sat again on the table and swung his legs. The
visitor was not allowed to answer before, and must answer now. He would
have been more comfortable at the rectory.

"My friend," he began, "suppose, now, I should say that you are pretty
nearly correct in everything you've said?"

The prisoner, who, with hands grasping the table's edge on either side
of him, was looking down at his swinging brogans, simply lifted his
lurid eyes without raising his head, and nodded. "It would be right," he
seemed to intimate, "but nothing great."

"And suppose I should say that I'm glad I've heard it, and that I even
intend to make good use of it?"

His hearer lifted his head, better pleased, but not without some
betrayal of the distrust which a lower nature feels toward the
condescensions of a higher. The preacher went on:--

"Would you try to believe what I have to add to that?"

"Yes, I'd try," replied the Irishman, looking facetiously from the youth
to Ristofalo. But this time the Italian was grave, and turned his glance
expectantly upon the minister, who presently replied:--

"Well, neither my church nor the community has sent me here at all."

The Irishman broke into a laugh.

"Did God send ye?" He looked again to his comrades, with an expanded
grin. The youth giggled. The clergyman met the attack with serenity,
waited a moment and then responded:--

"Well, in one sense, I don't mind saying--yes."

"Well," said the Irishman, still full of mirth, and swinging his legs
with fresh vigor, "he'd aht to 'a' sint ye to the ligislatur."

"I'm in hopes he will," said the little rector; "but"--checking the
Irishman's renewed laughter--"tell me why should other men's injustice
in here stop me from preaching God's mercy?"

"Because it's pairt _your_ injustice! Ye _do_ come from yer cherch, an'
ye _do_ come from the community, an' ye can't deny ud, an' ye'd ahtn't
to be comin' in here with yer sweet tahk and yer eyes tight