“Excuse me” – “Canon” was a word he found hard to say, but he managed to bring it out – “Canon!”

“Yes!” The Canon turned, eyes atwinkle for his interviewer, becoming suddenly guarded as he saw who it was. “Ah, Father Conroy, yes?”

The slight check enabled Father Conroy to hide his impati-ence. He came up close to the Canon, who backed away a little. Then, looking down at the little man, wrinkling his face in sympathy, he murmured, “How are ye?”

The Canon smiled his gentle saint’s smile.

“I’m not so bad,” he said gratefully, “not so bad, at all.”

“Getting on, like meself.”

“Up here I’m good” – the Canon tapped his head – “but the feet!”

“Ah!” Father Conroy looked down in great sympathy at the little handmade boots, wrinkled like a leprechaun’s. “The feet!” And he made a note to tell the others sometime, “Poor oul’ fellow! Gone in the feet!”

“Too bad about Maurice,” he said, hastening to reach the Canon his cane. “I believe you’re been hearing from that son of his.”

“Yes, Father.” The Canon was closing up.

Father Conroy pressed on. “A right blackguard he was.”

“I’d be slow to judge him, Father, if I were you.”

“Oh!” Father Conroy could no longer restrain his curiosity. “He was very good to the old man, I believe?”

“I don’t know how you heard that, Father.”

“Oh, I could have heard from him too.”

“No, Father.”

“Why not?”

“Because he couldn’t bring himself to write to you.” The Canon looked away, hesitated, then was forced by his own honesty to blurt out, “He seemed to – think something of you, Father!”

“I see.” Overwhelmed that anyone should think highly of him, and even more, that the Canon should force himself to say so, Father Conroy wanted only to get away. But Father O’Hara and some others had drawn near, curious to know what the Canon and he had found in common. To divert them, he turned to them and said, “Maurice Connolly, the man we buried this morning, we were just talking about him.”

“God rest him,” said the Canon.

“Oh, rest him is right.” And once more he fell to the temptation to play for a laugh. “Long enough he figured in the stud book of this parish, Canon, when you and I were here.”

“It’s hardly fitting to recall that now, Father,” the Canon said nervously – but he was man enough to say it.

“You’re right, Canon. I have to hand it to you, the way you behaved after all the trouble...”

“Don’t bring that up, either.” The Canon went pink in the face. “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”