It was a glad day when Father Tom came to the village to see how all were getting along. There were so few people that the village had no church of its own. They went four miles every Sunday to the nearest service. Almost every one had to walk, for there were only two or three donkeys and one or two rough carts in the whole place. A visit from the priest was a great honour, a very great honour. The children knelt in his pathway that he might lay his hands on them and bless them. The men took off their hats and bowed their heads low as he passed by. The old women made as good curtsys as their stiff backs would let them. Norah put little Patsy down on the ground, whispering, "Patsy, dear, touch the good man's robe with your little hands. It will make ye a better boy." Father Tom must have heard the whisper. He turned around and placed his hands on the baby's curly head. Then he made a short prayer and blessed him. "I will take a sup of tea with you, Mrs. O'Neil," he said to Norah's mother. "I am quite tired, for I have walked all the way from my home this morning." Mrs. O'Neil was much pleased. She hurried home, while the priest and children followed her more slowly. As she hung the kettle over the fire and set the table for the priest's lunch, he gathered the children around him and told them stories of St. Patrick, the dearest of all saints to the Irish people. It was a long, long time ago that the King of Ireland was holding a festival in the Hall of Tara. "Put out all the fires," he had commanded his people. "Let no light be seen till a blaze bursts forth from the hill of Tara." Not one of his subjects would have dared to disobey the king's command. You may judge, therefore, how surprised he was when he looked out into the darkness and saw a light. It grew stronger and stronger every moment. A great fire was blazing near by on the top of a hill! Who could have dared to disobey the king? What was the meaning of the fire? The Druid priest for whom the king sent in haste said: "O king, if that fire is not put out to-night, it will never die in this country." Now it happened that the festival which the king and his people were celebrating was held on the night before Easter Sunday. Few people of Erin had at that time heard of Easter Sunday. They knew nothing of the life of the Christ Child. They were Druids, and had a strange belief of their own. Their chief priests dwelt in the dark forests of oak-trees, and taught their followers to worship fire as the symbol of the sun. But a new teacher had come into their country. He had a message to the people. He wished to tell them of the Christian religion and of Jesus, who had lived and suffered and died to help all mankind. The name of the new teacher was Patrick, and Scotland was his early home. When he was sixteen years old, he was surprised by a band of robbers. They made him their prisoner and took him with them to Ireland.