And  the  faces  of  Irish  girls  —
from  the  little  maidens,  on  Confirma-
tion Sunday  pretty  as  apple  blos-
soms with  their  white  veils,  white
garments  even  to  their  stockings,
and  their  red  cheeks,  to  Miss
Maloney  who  was  "head  sales-
lady" at  the  dry  goods  store — all
lighted  with  the  gleam  of  Erin's
smiles  as  they  saw  him  approaching
and  watched  for  his  recognition.  I
came  to  feel  that  I  would  give  half
the  village  lots  left  me  by  the  hon-
ored pillar  of  First  Church  who  was
my  father,  if  thereby  I  might  have
the  music  of  such  simple  gladness
sounding  for  me  as  their  voices  in
greeting  made  for  the  Domine!
[15]


At  the   Crossing

No  matter  how  the  water-wagon
driver  might  skimp  the  dusty
highway  elsewhere,  it  was  always
abundantly  sprinkled  before  the
parsonage  on  a  summer's  day;  and
if  the  snow-plow  chanced  to  shunt  so
as  to  leave  a  bank  on  the  Domine's
walk,  it  was  actually  turned  back
to  clear  a  path,  even  as  it  was  before
the  rectory  of  St.  Anne's.  Day
laborers  lounging  at  nightfall  in  a
corner  group  would  still  their  ebul-
lient chatting  to  say  "Good  evenin',
Docthor,"  or  some  such  sudden  shift
to  the  language  of  respect,  touching
their  headpieces  as  he  passed  with
a  pleasant  response.  I  used  to  see
Irish  policemen  salute  him  —  a  lone
stroller  on  his  uneventful  beat,  a
whole  squad  tramping  heavily  from
headquarters  to  their  night-watch
—  and  it  was  as  when  soldiers  hap-
pen to  pass  a  general  on  the  field.
