“May be,” I remarked, “but you and your family will be dead from starvation before Tim and his friends free Ireland.” I cast the matter over and over in my head while we were eating our bite of dinner, but could not decide what advice to give my uncle and those who were going to be governed by what he did. Escape from the dreadful conditions under which they suffered would be a great blessing. On the other hand, my sense of what was fair revolted at the idea of their giving up their holdings, their homes for generations, for a nominal consideration. When my uncle rose to go, for he had a long walk before him, I said I could not decide then; I would think it over and on Sunday I would go and see them. When Sunday came, I rose early, and let myself out quietly. It was a misty, soggy morning. I stepped out quickly, for I had a good way to go. The walking was heavy, so when I came in sight of the chapel, I saw late comers hurrying in for high mass. At the altar, to my surprise and joy, I saw my old companion, Tom Burke. When the sermon came it was like his old self, strong and bold. He compared the afflictions of the people of suffering Ireland to those of the Israelites in Egypt, ascribing the famine to the alien government, which wanted to wipe them from the face of the earth. It would prove as futile as all past persecutions directed against the Irish race, which would continue to cherish their faith and their love of country. He carried me away with him, but his hearers listened with countenances stolid and heavy. It was the hunger; they could think of nothing but their craving for food. Father Tom had noticed me, for when I was going out at the door the man whispered to me to step into the sacristy. Passing the word with my uncle, that I would be at his house in the afternoon, I joined my old fellow student, who would have me to break my fast with him. He had come on temporary duty, and I went with him to the priest’s house. Over the table we recalled old times at Maynooth and were living those happy days over again with joke and story, when our laughter was checked by the housekeeper coming in to say if we were done with our dinner Mrs Murtagh was waiting to see for what his reverence wanted her. “Send her here,” he ordered. A broken-down woman, haggard and in rags, stood at the door. “O ye have come, have ye, Mrs Murtagh.” “Yes, yer rivirence; Mrs Maloney tould me ye wanted me, and didn’t know what for.” “Oh, you know what I wanted you for, if Mrs Maloney did not. I wanted to see what kind of a baste you were that would go to the soupers--what kind of Irish woman you were that would sell your faith to thim white-livered divils.” Father Burke here rose to his feet, his face lit with wrath, and his hand moving to grasp his cross. The woman sunk on her knees at his feet. “For the sake of the dear mother of God, don’t put the curse on me, yer rivirence,” she entreated. “Why not? What have ye to say?”