Father Whimsett Looked steadily at Father Conway, blew A funnel of tobacco smoke and said: I scarcely read the _Times_ these days, too busy-- I've had a run of rich confessionals. The war is ended, but they still come on, And most are lovers in the coils of love. I had one yesterday that made me think Of one I had a year ago last spring, The point was this: they say forgive me father, For I have sinned, then as the case proceeds A greater sin comes forth, I mean the sin Of saying sin is good, cannot be sin: I loved the man, or how can love be sin? Well, as a human soul I see the point, But have no option, must lay to and say Acknowledgment, contrition and the promise To sin no more, is necessary to Win absolution. Now to show the matter, Here comes a woman, says I leave for France To serve, to die. I have a premonition That I shall die abroad; or if I live, I have had fears, I shall be taken, wronged, So driven by this honor to destroy Myself, goes on and says, I tell you all These fears of mine that you may search my heart, More gladly may absolve me. Then she says, These fears worked in my soul until I took The step which I confess, before I leave. I wait and she proceeds: "O, holy father, There is a man whom I have loved for years, These five years past, such hopeless, happy years. I love him and he loves me, holy father. He holds me sacred as his wife, he loves me With the most holy love. It cannot be That any love like ours is guilty love, Can have no other quality than good, If it be love."