Father Cahill began to realise as he watched him the secret of the
tremendous appeal the man had to the suffering people. Just for a
moment the priest's heart went out to O'Connell, agitator though he
was.

"Your father died with all the comforts of the Holy Church," said
the priest gently, as he put his old hand the young man's shoulder.

"The comforts of the church!" scoffed O'Connell. "Praise be to
heaven for that!" He laughed a grim, derisive laugh as he went on:

"Sure it's the fine choice the Irish peasant has to-day. 'Stones and
dirt are good enough for them to eat,' sez the British government.
'Give them prayers,' say the priests. And so they die like flies in
the highways and hedges, but with 'all the comforts of the Holy
Church'!"

Father Cahill's voice thrilled with indignation as he said:

"I'll not stand and listen to ye talk that way, Frank O'Connell."

"I've often noticed that those who are the first to PREACH truth are
the last to LISTEN to it," said the agitator drily.

"Where would Ireland be to-day but for the priest? Answer me that.
Where would she be? What has my a here been? I accepted the yoke of
the Church when I was scarcely your age. I've given my life to
serving it. To help the poor, and to keep faith and love for Him in
their hearts. To tache the little children and bring them up in the