"Well, what kind of a washerwoman does THIS one turn out to be?" he
asked, after they were seated, and he had invoked a blessing and was
cutting vigorously into the meat.

"Oh, so-so," replied Alice; "she seems to be particular, but she's
mortal slow. If I hadn't stood right over her, we shouldn't have had the
clothes out till goodness knows when. And of course she's Irish!"

"Well, what of THAT?" asked the minister, with a fine unconcern.

Alice looked up from her plate, with knife and fork suspended in air.
"Why, you know we were talking only the other day of what a pity it was
that none of our own people went out washing," she said. "That Welsh
woman we heard of couldn't come, after all; and they say, too, that she
presumes dreadfully upon the acquaintance, being a church member, you
know. So we simply had to fall back on the Irish. And even if they do
go and tell their priest everything they see and hear, why, there's one
comfort, they can tell about US and welcome. Of course I see to it she
doesn't snoop around in here."

Theron smiled. "That's all nonsense about their telling such things to
their priests," he said with easy confidence.

"Why, you told me so yourself," replied Alice, briskly. "And I've always
understood so, too; they're bound to tell EVERYTHING in confession.
That's what gives the Catholic Church such a tremendous hold. You've
spoken of it often."

"It must have been by way of a figure of speech," remarked Theron,