"
At that moment sounds of voices were heard.
"Listen to them, Uncle John." And the curate took the glass from
Father John. "They are not as far as I thought, they are sitting
under these trees. Come," he said.
They walked some twenty yards, till they reached a spot where the
light came pouring through the young leaves, and all the brown
leaves of last year were spotted with light. There were light
shadows amid the rocks and pleasant mosses, and the sounds of
leaves and water, and from the top of a rock Kate listened while
Peter told her they would rebuild his house.
"The priests are after us," she said.
And she gave a low whistle, and the men and boys looked round, and
seeing the priests coming, they dispersed, taking several paths,
and none but Ned and Mary were left behind. Ned was dozing, Mary
was sitting beside him fanning herself with her hat; they had not
heard Kate's whistle, and they did not see the priests until they
were by them.
"Now, Tom, don't lose your head, be quiet with them."
"Will you speak to them, or shall I?" said Father Tom.
In the excitement of the moment he forgot his own imperfections
and desired to admonish them.
"I think you had better let me speak to them," said Father John.
"You are Ned Kavanagh," he said, "and you are Mary Byrne, I
believe. Now, I don't know you all, for I am getting an old man,
and I don't often come up this way. But notwithstanding my age,
and the heat of the day, I have come up, for I have heard that you
have not acted as good Catholics should.
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