Father Conroy made Mrs. Drewitt smile faintly as he demonstrated with a tug of his forefinger on the unyielding side of his own mouth. “Bought off a tinker, I’d say he was, and then, well, you know the way he’d be abused afterward. You’ve seen the crotchety way an old lady would drive a pony and trap.”

“Ah yes, of course I know what you mean.” Mr. Drewitt half-turned to quell her smile. “A local expression.”

“There’s nothing you can do, once the mouth is gone. A great pity, because he’d have been just the thing for the good woman.” And he tilted his head in his courtly way toward Mrs. Drewitt.

“Oh, no,” she exclaimed in alarm, “I don’t think I’d ever—”

“All the same, ma’am,” said Father Conroy, “a little gentle exercise would have been excellent for the constitution. Ah well,” he sighed, “so there you are.”

“I see.” Drewitt summed up. “A tinker’s pony with no mouth.”

“For a man in your position, it’s not much of a prize, I agree, but sure ’twas only put up as a token anyway. The main thing was the parish funds.”

“Why didn’t Teresa tell me this” – the color was rising in that inflammable skull – “when she sold me that blasted ticket?”

“Oh well,” Father Conroy smiled, glossing over the unpleasantness, “if it’s only a question of the ticket—” He pulled the loose change out of his pocket and picked out half a crown.

“No, no, Padre, you don’t get out of this so easily.”

“Out of what?” Father Conroy stared blankly.

“Out of this – this infernal mess.”

Father Conroy leaned forward and smiled as if he were encouraging a child that was striving to make itself understood. “But I thought you said you didn’t want him?”

“No!” Drewitt burst out.

“No what?” Father Conroy encouraged.

“I won it – damn it, I won it!”

“Yes,” smiled Father Conroy. “Of course you did.” Watching Drewitt fume, he felt momentarily sorry for him. Exiled in a strange land, feeling himself at the mercy of rapparees, no wonder he didn’t know what to think. Poor fellow, he had adopted the ways of a class whose vocation was the horse, and yet he couldn’t even ride one. Rather than press him further now, in such a dangerous mood, Father Conroy inclined his head toward Mrs. Drewitt. “If you’ll allow me, ma’am, I’ll see to it that your pony gets a good home.”

“Oh, Father Conroy, I’d be so glad if you would.”

“No,” shouted Drewitt.

Father Conroy and Mrs. Drewitt turned toward him in dismay.

“I’ll see to it,” he muttered thickly. “He’s mine.”

“But, dear, Father Conroy knows—”

“Will you be quiet!”

“Yes, dear.” She gave him her small, appeasing smile. “Of course.”

“I’m talking to this man here, you see,” he blustered, “Father What’s-his-name—”