"No, Patsy, they are not; for if they were, there would be more than one
priest for this large town; and you heard Father O'Shane say that there
was only himself for all the city and a great part of the country," said
Paul.

"I hope somebody will take us to mass on Sunday," said little Patrick;
"and, Paul, will you ask the priest to allow me to answer mass? You know
Father Doyle told us never to forget the lessons we learned of him."

"I'd know are there any nuns here," said Bridget. "O, how beautiful the
convent chapel in Limerick was! I hope I have not lost my beautiful
little silver medals and crucifix they gave me when I was coming away.
No; here they are, and my Agnus Dei, too," she said, kissing them. "God
rest mother's soul, how glad she was when I got these from the holy
nuns!" And the tears streamed down her fair cheeks in floods.

"Hold your tongue, Bridget, again," said Paul, with emphasis. "Don't you
know that mother told us not to grieve, but pray for her soul? And
besides, in the 'Imitation of Christ,' which I read for you this morning
and last night, it is said that grief kills devotion, and excessive,
sorrow is a sin. You can serve mother, or rejoice her soul, by praying,
but not by crying, Bridget."

"O, how can I help it? 'Tis against me will, Paul," said she, wiping her
eyes.

"Always look attentively at that crucifix," said Paul, "and you need
never grieve for any thing except sin. This is what Father Doyle used to
say."