in my hand. It was a great contrast to the bright sunlight I had
left, and to the busy streets with their holiday-making people. There
were only a few scattered here and there in the dim silence of the
church, some on their knees, some walking slowly about on tiptoe, and
some seated meditating in chairs. No service was going forward, so I
knelt down in the chapel of Saint Patrick himself; I bowed my head and
thanked God for the day and for the blessing that had come with it. As
I said, I was like a boy again, and to my lips, too long held from
them, came the prayers that had been taught me. I was glad I had not
forgotten them, and I said them over and over with joy in my heart. As
I raised my head, I saw standing and looking at me a priest, and,
rising to my feet, I made my bow to him, and he came forward,
recognizing me before I recognized him.

"O'Ruddy," he said, "if you knew the joy it gives to my old heart to
meet you in this sacred place and in that devout attitude, it would
bring some corresponding happiness to yourself."

"Now by the piper that played before Moses, Father Donovan, and is
this yourself? Sure I disrecognized you, coming into the darkness, and
me just out of the glare beyond,"--and I took his hand in both of mine
and shook it with a heartiness he had not met since he left the old
turf. "Sure and there's no one I'd rather meet this day than
yourself,"--and with that I dropped on one knee and asked for his
blessing on me and mine.

As we walked out of the church together, his hand resting on my
shoulder, I asked how such a marvel came to pass as Father Donovan,
who never thought to leave Ireland, being here in London. The old man
said nothing till we were down the steps, and then he told me what had
happened.

"You remember Patsy O'Gorman," he said.

"I do that," I replied, "and an old thief of the world and a
tight-fisted miser he is."

"Whist," said Father Donovan, quietly crossing himself. "O'Gorman is
dead and buried."

"Do you tell me that!" said I, "then rest his soul. He would be a warm
man and leave more money than my father did, I'm thinking."

"Yes, he left some money, and to me he left three hundred pounds, with
the request that I should accomplish the desire of my life and take
the pilgrimage to Rome."

"The crafty old chap, that same bit of bequestration will help him
over many a rough mile in purgatory."

"Ah, O'Ruddy, it's not our place to judge. They gave a harder name t