"Amin, thin, and may the Blessed Vargin put the words into his mouth that he has to shpake," cried another. The children listened gravely. All that they could conjecture was that Father Letheby was engaged on a great and dangerous enterprise. I never had a moment's doubt but that their prayers were heard and their predictions verified, although when Father Letheby called the next day he looked depressed and gloomy enough. "Well," I said, "a great success, of course?" "I'm afraid not," he said moodily. "You broke down badly just in the middle?" "Well, no, indeed; there was certainly no breakdown, but the whole thing was evidently a failure." "Let me see," I cried. "There are certain infallible indications of the success or failure of a sermon. Were there any priests present?" "About twenty, I think," he replied. "That was the worst of it. You don't mind the people at all." "And weren't they very enthusiastic," I asked, "when you returned to the sacristy?" "No, indeed. Rather the contrary, which makes me think that I said something either perilous or ill-advised." "Humph! Didn't any fellow come up to you and knock the breath out of your body by slapping you on the back?" "No!" he replied sadly. "Didn't any fellow say: _Prospere procede, et regna?_" "No!" he said. "It was just the other way." "Didn't any fellow shake you by the hand even, and say: _Prosit! prosit!! prosit!!!_" "I'm afraid not," he said gloomily. "That's bad. Nor even, _macte virtute esto, Titus Manlius_?" "No," he said. "There was no indication of sympathy whatsoever." "Didn't any fellow drop into the vernacular, and say: 'Put the hand there. Sure I never doubted you,' and wring your hand as if he wanted to dislocate it?" "No, no, no! There was simply dead silence." "And perhaps they looked at you over their shoulders, and whispered together, as they put their surplices into their bags, and stared at you as if you were a sea-monster?" "Something that way, indeed," said my poor curate. "Did the bishop make any remark?" "Yes. The bishop came over and said he was very grateful, indeed, for that beautiful sermon. But that, of course, was purely conventional." "And the people? How did they take it?" "They were very quiet and attentive, indeed: apparently an intelligent congregation." "You don't think you were talking over their heads?" "No, indeed. Even the poor women who were gathered under the pulpit stared at me unmercifully; and I think a few persons in front were much affected." I waited for a few minutes to draw my deductions. But they were logical enough. "My dear boy," I said at length, "from a long and profound experience of that wilful thing called human nature, allow me to tell you that every indication you have mentioned points to the fact that you have preached not only an edifying and useful, but a remarkable sermon--"