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"
I
must
confess
,
Father
,
that
this
past
year
has
been
very
pleasant
,
"
she
said
.
"
You
're
a
far
more
satisfactory
shepherd
than
old
Father
Kelly
was
,
God
rot
his
soul
.
"
Her
voice
on
the
last
phrase
was
suddenly
harsh
,
vindictive
.
His
eyes
lifted
to
her
face
,
twinkling
.
"
My
dear
Mrs.
Carson
!
That
's
not
a
very
Catholic
sentiment
.
"
"
But
the
truth
.
He
was
a
drunken
old
sot
,
and
I
'm
quite
sure
God
will
rot
his
soul
as
much
as
the
drink
rotted
his
body
.
"
She
leaned
forward
.
"
I
know
you
fairly
well
by
this
time
;
I
think
I
'm
entitled
to
ask
you
a
few
questions
,
do
n't
you
?
After
all
,
you
feel
free
to
use
Drogheda
as
your
private
playground
--
off
learning
how
to
be
a
stockman
,
polishing
your
riding
,
escaping
from
the
vicissitudes
of
life
in
Gilly
.
All
at
my
invitation
,
of
course
,
but
I
do
think
I
'm
entitled
to
some
answers
,
do
n't
you
?
"
He
did
n't
like
to
be
reminded
that
he
ought
to
feel
grateful
,
but
he
had
been
waiting
for
the
day
when
she
would
think
she
owned
him
enough
to
begin
demanding
things
of
him
.
"
Indeed
you
are
,
Mrs.
Carson
.
I
ca
n't
thank
you
enough
for
permitting
me
the
run
of
Drogheda
,
and
for
all
your
gifts
--
my
horses
,
my
car
.
"
"
How
old
are
you
?
"
she
asked
without
further
preamble
.
"
Twenty-eight
,
"
he
replied
.
"
Younger
than
I
thought
.
Even
so
,
they
do
n't
send
priests
like
you
to
places
like
Gilly
.
What
did
you
do
,
to
make
them
send
someone
like
you
out
here
into
the
back
of
beyond
?
"
"
I
insulted
the
bishop
,
"
he
said
calmly
,
smiling
.
"
You
must
have
!
But
I
ca
n't
think
a
priest
of
your
peculiar
talents
can
be
happy
in
a
place
like
Gillanbone
.
"
