"I beg your pardon, sir," said Father Orin, gravely. "I didn't
understand. I've done you great injustice."
"Hey? What did you say?"
"The Sisters would be only too glad to use this money for those
children, and for other little ones just as helpless and needy,"
murmuring something about the use purifying the source. "But I want you
to take it to them yourself, and give it to them with your own hands."
"Me! Old Tommy Dye!"
The coarse face actually turned pale under its big freckles. Its dismay
was so comical that Father Orin laughed till the woods rang with his
hearty, merry voice. Toby turned his head in sober disapproval of such
unseemly levity, and Tommy Dye was a good deal miffed.
"'Pears to me you are mighty lively--and most of the time, too," he
said, in a tone of offence, tinged with wonder.
"Why not?" said the priest, still chuckling. "Why shouldn't I be
lively?"
Tommy Dye hesitated, more puzzled now than angry. "Well, you see, your
job has always seemed to me just about the lonesomest there is."
Father Orin began to laugh again, but he was hushed by the soft, sweet
pealing of the Angelus through the shadowed forest.
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