e were, in fact, no greater friends and truer admirers than Father
Healy and Mr. Green. When the priest had built his school, and invited
the Bishop to lay the foundation stone, Mr. Green was present to offer
his congratulations. Many an evening the two sat at bridge with Clarke,
the solicitor, and Michael O'Connor to make the table complete.

"Let Grey Town be an object lesson to Australia," laughed Father Healy.
"Here we value one another as citizens, and overlook each other's
religious misbeliefs."

To this Mr. Green replied smilingly:

"You only need one thing to be a perfect man, Father."

"And that is to pull you over the wall beside me," cried the priest.

If St. Mary's Church were large and imposing, the presbytery was old and
diminutive. Father Healy had bought the land and the house as it stood
on a block beside the one for church and schools, and he had made no
attempt to enlarge or improve the house.

"Time enough to build when I am dead," he remarked in answer to a
deputation of his parishioners.

"But it is a disgrace to us to see you living in a ramshackle building,
half in and half out of doors," said the spokesman.

"I have built church and schools, and I am content," replied the priest.
"Let the next man erect a presbytery. What there is, is enough for me,
and who is to grumble, if not I?"

Therewith he dismissed the deputation kindly, and returned to his
study, the bow window of which looked out on the garden, a quiet
solitude, where the priest often walked to say his Office. It was like
the soul of good Father Healy, a peaceful spot, filled with
sweet-smelling, simple flowers.

This garden was the pride of Dan, who acted as general factotum at the
presbytery, and laboured and whistled the day through, with a smiling
recognition for all comers.

"'Tis the finest piece of garden in Grey Town," he was wont to declare.
"Give me the old wallflower, the rose, violet, and carnation, and let
others be stocking their beds with dahlias and chrysanthemums, which
have no smell to remind you of the old country."

There were few idle moments in his life. He scrubbed the presbytery
verandah, and cleaned the windows, groomed and doctored the priest's
horses, fed the fowls, and spent his leisure in an attempt to keep the
school children out of the presbytery garden and orchard. In the last of
his tasks he succeeded with all the scholars but Tim O'Neill. But Tim
had respect for no one, not even Dan. Yet