The Birmingham age-herald., 1908-06-28

TITLE Father Michael Kinselagh
 was lingering over his Sunday 1 morning breakfast, trying to keep himself awake with the strong coffee pre- pared by the housekeeper, his distant cousin Kate MacAvoy She stood little behind his chair in a respectful position, but her handsome pink face bore an ex- presson in which irritation clashed with affection.
 He was quite aware of her attitude, and his lips smiled, though his thick eye brows were punched in frown. His blue eyes were kindly that it was only by half shutting them and frowning that he could make them seem stern. His round, flexible face was full of humorous lines which could in moment turn severe Long years of work among the Italians in the crowded ward in which his church was set had taught him that he could best achieve health for the souls and bodies of his ignorant parishioners by system of scolding and harrying-a sys- tenn so distasteful to him that he often reflected that every day of his life his own words to people made him sup sor- row with a spoon of grief, but it was little of that effect it had on them, faith.
 You'll stick to what you said last night Father?" Kate remarked at length in a trembling tone.
 q will. I'm determined you'll take vacation for a month. I've my own req sons.'
 well discuss it agin," she said, defiant ly But now, Father, you'll lie down bit?"
 Kate MacAvoy," boomed the little father, 'you know I'm expected at the Sunday school
 And you up all night till iarly mass wid Pasquale di Petrol I knew he'd not die this time; he niver does. My curses on that family. Blanca di Pietros in the hall now along wid that pushin' mob that's been dhroppin' in since o'clock l would think she'd be ashamed to show her face the way her family keeps dyin' on you and bein' borrun and marvin and fightin'-'
 Have conduct, woman!" cried Father Kinsellaugh; "and open the door, for l hear Michael MacMahon in the hall
 Kate obeyed, and Michael MacMahon, the superintendent of the Sunday school of St. Angeos, entered, his broad shoul- ders dwarfing everything in the room. Father kinsellagh liked best to see him at his teamster work, his strong body in blue shirt comfortably hunched for ward, his big mellow voice calling greet ings to his fellow drivers on the streets But even in his ill-ftting Sunday clothes MacMahon was a pleasant sight. His eyes were very blue and honest under his irregular black locks of hair, and his long, thin mouth looked more in clined to smile than to draw down. He
 <~1r Krk~ .,,tff fAd at him, and then forgetting her, he made a long stride forward and beamed down affectionately on the little father.
 Well Michael, and how are your" asked the priest.
 Sure, 'tis like rain on thirty field to see you, Faather And how are you afther your vacation, Faather?
 "Of mind never to take another" grumbled Father Kinsellagh. "rroth, leave peaceable congregation for three weeks, and when I return yes- terday, what do I find? The Di Pietros cursing and raving politely against the few Irish I do keep in my church, and daring to hint I favor ye, and setting all the other Italians by the ears. And Michael, the black curses Pasquale poured on you in particular
 MacMahones blue eyes burned in his angry face.
 "Thim Di Pietros!" he burst out. "As sure as eggs is mate, the divil Is busy wid thim the whole uv the day. If iver I spake the civil worrud to. ould Pasquale agin, may no child pray over me grave, and
 Stop that cursing this mortal minute" shouted the little father. And you, woman," he added, whirling in his chair to look at Kate, whose face was hlight with laughter, you might be doing better than grinning like an t omadh on at the honest lad that's too good for you, anyway"
 This direct reference to the fact that Kate had for year steadily rejected Mich aels addresses subdued both of