Last night and this morning, what Shamesy Golliher had told him of last night and said of the walk with Rebecca this morning—all this was now recurring clearly to his mind, although Shamesy had long since disappeared across the sweep of the hill on his way to Garradrimna.

Mrs. Brennan had so recently reminded her son of his coming exaltation that the suggestion was now compelling him beyond the battle of his thought to picture himself as a priest ordained. Yet an immense gulf of difference still separated him from the condition of Father O'Keeffe, for instance. His thought had been further helped to move this way by the sudden appearance of Father O'Keeffe riding along The Road of the Dead.

John did not see the man as he really was. Yet it was the full reality of him that was exercising a subconscious influence upon his mind and helping, with other things, to turn his heart away from the priesthood.

Father O'Keeffe came directly from that class so important in Ireland—the division of the farmer class which has come to be known as "The Grabbers." The word "grabber" had not been invented to describe a new class, but rather to denote the remarkable character of a class already in existence. That was their innermost nature, these farmers, to be close-fisted and to guard with an almost savage tenacity those possessions to which they had already attained. It was notable also that they were not too careful or particular as to the means they employed to come into possession. This was the full answer to the question why so many of them put a son on for the Church. It was a double reason, to afford a means of acquiring still further and to be as an atonement in the sight of Heaven for the means they had used in acquiring thus far. This at once appeared amazingly true if one applied it to the case of Father O'Keeffe, who could on occasion put on such a look of remoteness from this world, that it was difficult to set about analyzing him by any earthly standard. Yet, among all the pedigrees she had read for him, as a notable example in Mrs. Brennan's crowd of examples, had continually appeared and re-appeared this family of O'Keeffe. His mother had always endeavored to fix firmly in his mind the wonder of their uprise. It was through the gates of the Church that the O'Keeffes had gone to their enjoyment. No doubt they had denied themselves to educate this Louis O'Keeffe who had become P.P. of Garradrimna, but their return had been more than satisfying. There was now no relation of his to the most distant degree of blood who did not possess great comfort and security in the land.

At bottom Father O'Keeffe was still a man of the clay and loved the rich grass and the fine cattle it produced. He had cattle in every quarter of the parish. Men bought them and saw to their fattening and sold them for him, even going so far as adding the money to his account in the bank. He had most discreetly used a seeming unworldliness to screen his advance upon the ramparts of Mammon. Citing the examples of Scripture, he consorted with notable, though suddenly converted, sinners, and, when some critic from among the common people was moved to speak his mind as one of the converted sinners performed a particularly unscrupulous stroke of business, he was immediately silenced by the unassailable spectacle of his parish priest walking hand in hand with the man whose actions he was daring to question. The combination was of mutual benefit; the gombeen man, the auctioneer and the publican were enabled to proceed with their swindle of the poor by maintaining his boon companionship.

Thus, while publicly preaching the admonishing text of the camel and the rich man and the needle's eye, Father O'Keeffe was privately engaged in putting himself in such a condition that the task of negotiating the needle's eye might be as difficult to him as the camel. He went daily for a walk, reading his office, and returned anxiously scanning stock exchange quotations and letters from cattle salesmen in Dublin. But in spite of this he was a sportsman, and thought nothing of risking a ten-pound note upon a horse or a night's card-play.

When he first came to the parish his inclinations were quickly determined. In the whirl of other interests cards had fallen into disuse in Garradrimna. They had come to be considered old-fashioned, but now suddenly they became "all the rage." Old card-tables were rediscovered and renewed, and it was said that Tommy Williams was compelled to order several gross of playing cars—for, what the "elite" of the parish did, the "commonality" must needs follow and do. Thus was a public advantage of doubtful benefit created; for laboring men were known to lose their week's wages to the distress of their wives and children.... At the "gorgeous card-plays" never an eyelid was lifted when Father O'Keeffe "renayged."

These took place in the houses of shopkeepers and strong farmers, and were cultivated to a point of excessive brilliance. Ancient antagonists of the tongue met upon this new field, and strategic attempts were made to snatch Father O'Keeffe as a prize of battle. Thus was an extravagant sense of his value at once created and, as in all such cases, the worst qualities of the man came to be developed. His natural snobbishness, for one thing, which led him to associate a great deal with the gilded youth of Garradrimna—officials of the Union and people of that kind who had got their positions through every effort of bribery and corruption. At athletic sports or coursing matches you would see him among a group of them, while they smoked stinking "Egyptian" cigarettes up into his face.

Yet it must not be thought that Father O'Keeffe neglected the ladies. In evenings in the village he might be seen standing outside the worn drapery counters back-biting between grins and giggles with the women of the shops. This curious way of spending the time had once led an irreverent American to describe him as "the flirtatious shop-boy of Garradrimna."

His interest in the female sex often led him upon expeditions beyond the village. Many a time he might be seen riding his old, fat, white horse, so strangely named, "King Billy," down some rutted boreen on the way to a farmer's house where there were big daughters with weighty fortunes. Those were match-making expeditions when he had come to tell them of his brother Robert O'Keeffe and his broad acres.... While "King Billy" was comforting himself with a plentiful feed of oats, he would be sitting in the musty parlor with the girl and her mother, taking wine and smoking cigars, which were kept in every house since it had come to be known that Father O'Keeffe was fond of them. He generally smoked a good few at a sitting, and those he did not consume he carried away in his pocket for future use in his den at the Presbytery.

"Isn't Father O'Keeffe, God bless him, the walking terror for cigars?" was all the comment ever made upon this extraordinary habit.

Robert O'Keeffe, in the intentions of his brother, was a much-married man, for there was not a house in the parish holding a marriageable girl into which Father O'Keeffe had not gone to get him a match. He had enlarged upon the excellence of his brother, upon his manners and ways and the breadth of his fields.

"He's the grand, fine man, is Robert," he would say, by way of giving a final touch to the picture.

Upon those whose social standing was not a thing of any great certitude this had always a marked effect towards their own advantage and that of Father O'Keeffe. It gave them a certain pride in their own worth to have a priest calling attentively at the house and offering his brother in marriage. It would be a gorgeous thing to be married to a priest's brother, and have your brother-in-law with power in his hands to help you out of many a difficulty. He never inquired after the cattle their fathers were grazing free of charge for him until he would be leaving the house.

John Brennan followed the black figure upon the white horse down all The Road of the Dead until Father O'Keeffe had disappeared among the trees which surrounded the Schools of Tullahanogue, where he was making a call.