"If I asked you to go to the priest to pay him a quarter to pardon your
sins, you naughty Irish girl, you," said Amanda, in a passion, "how
readily you would obey me, you naughty thing, you!"

"You're welcome to your joke, miss," answered Bridget; "but if you are
in earnest, I must say that it is not true that Father Ugo, or any other
priest that ever lived, charged any money for hearing confession.
Confession was ordained by Christ, our Lord; and those who do not go to
confession cannot lead a pure life of virtue, nor preserve the love of
God in their souls."

"Indeed, miss!" said Amanda, with a sneer. "I see the priest has been
giving you a lesson. As if none but Papists knew what purity or virtue
was--the low set of Irish that they are!"

"Our books of devotion say as much," said Bridget; "and it stands to
reason, for if Catholics who frequent confession have enough to do to
keep themselves undefiled, how much more difficult is it for those who
do not confess at all? Besides, by confession restitution is enforced,
and whatever your neighbor loses by fraud is restored."

"Is it not strange, then, that the Irish Papist who robbed your mother
of the money does not think of restoring it? And you say he had the
priest's certificate of confession in his pocket?"

"That is not the fault of confession, miss. May be he would make
restitution yet, if God give him grace."

"I have been listening to you, miss, this half hour," interposed Murty,
who now entered from the back kitchen where he was smoking, "and I am