"And you saw the crown, Biddy?"
"I had it on my head, your reverence."
"And you heard the saints singing?"
"Yes, and I will tell you what they were singing," and she began
crooning. "Something like that, your reverence. You don't believe
me, but we have only our ears and our eyes to guide us."
"I don't say I don't believe you, Biddy, but you may be deceived."
"Sorra deceiving, your reverence, or I've been deceived all my
life. And now, your reverence, if you have no more business with
me I will go, for they are waiting in the chapel yard to hear me
tell them about the crown that was put upon my head."
"Well, Biddy, I want you to understand that I cannot have you
interrupting the Mass. I cannot permit it. The visions may be
true, or not true, but you must not interrupt the Mass. Do you
hear me?"
The acolyte had opened the door of the sacristy, she slipped
through it, and the priest took off his cassock. As he did so, he
noticed that the acolytes were anxious to get out; they were at
the window watching, and when the priest looked out of the window
he saw the people gathered about Biddy, and could see she had
obtained an extraordinary hold on the popular imagination; no one
noticed him when he came out of the sacristy; they were listening
to Biddy, and he stood unnoticed amid the crowd for a few minutes.
"She's out of her mind," he said. "She's as good as mad. What did
she tell me--that Our Lord put a crown on her head."
It was difficult to know what to do.
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