But there were other pedestrians than these. There were Darbys and Joans, Edwards and Angelinas. Then there passed by two solemn nuns in white, who had crosses hanging from their waists and wore high-heeled shoes. The lady of St. Joseph looked at John. John looked at her. She lifted her eyebrows to a question. "Protestant?" she said. John nodded with a smile. That broke the silence. Then they talked. They talked first of St. Joseph. "You always pray to St. Joseph?" said he. "No--not always--only for certain things. I’m awfully fond of him, but St. Cecilia’s my saint. I don’t like the look of St. Joseph, somehow or other. Of course, I know he’s awfully good, but I don’t like his beard. They always give him a brown beard, and I hate a man with a brown beard." "I saw St. Joseph once with a grey beard," said John. "Grey? But he wasn’t old." "No, but this one I saw was grey. It was in Ardmore, a wee fishing village in the county of Waterford, in Ireland. Ah, you should see Ardmore. Heaven comes nearer to the sea there than any place I know." "But what about St. Joseph?" "Oh, St. Joseph! Well, there was a lady there intent upon the cause of temperance. She built little temperance cafés all about the country, and had the pictures of Cruikshank’s story of the Bottle, framed and put on all the walls. To propitiate the Fates for the café in Ardmore, she decided also to set up the statue of St. Daeclan, their patron saint in those parts. So she sent up to Mulcahy’s, in Cork, for a statue of St. Daeclan. Now St. Daeclan, you know, is scarcely in popular demand." "I’ve never heard of him," said the lady of St. Joseph. "Neither had I till I went to Ardmore. Well, anyhow, Mulcahy had not got a statue. Should he send away and see if he could order one? Certainly he should send away. A week later came the reply. There is not a statue of St. Daeclan to be procured anywhere. Will an image of St. Joseph do as well? It would have to do. Very well, it came--St. Joseph with his brown beard. "’If only we could have got St. Daeclan,’ they said as they stood in front of it. ’But he’s too young for St. Daeclan. St. Daeclan was an old man.’ "I suppose it did not occur to them that St. Daeclan may not have been born old; but they conceived of a notion just as wise. They got a pot of paint from Foley’s, the provision store, and, with judicious applications, they made grey the brown beard of St. Joseph, then, washing out the gold letters of his name, they painted in place of them the name of St. Daeclan." The lady of St. Joseph smiled. "Are you making this up?" asked she. He shook his head.