"See?"
He nodded slowly. "Yes. And your old priest had not noticed. Moira--" he
caught her arm, leaned forward and peered into her face as though to
see through it into her soul. "Moira, girl, is it courage I have taught
ye? And honor? And faith?"
Her heart was singing now over the secret she had shared with him. Who
would not have courage and faith when one was so happy? With a lift of
her shoulders, a tilt of her head, she shrugged away his seriousness.
"If you could only see me, Father, as I am in my dream. Oh, it's
beautiful I am! And smart! And rich!"
"Not money," broke in the priest with a ring of contempt.
"Sure, no, not money! But fine things. Oh, Father," she clasped her
hands childishly. "It's fine things I want. The very finest in the
world! And I want my Danny to want them, too."
"Fine things," he repeated slowly. "And will ye know the fine things
from the dross, child? That wealth is more times what ye give, aye, than
what ye get? It's rich ye are of your fine things if the heart of you is
unselfish--"
"What talk, you, Father; it's like the croaking frogs in the Widow
Finnegan's pond you are! But, sh-h-h, I will tell you what I saw, as
real as real, as I lay dreaming--Destiny herself, as fine as you please,
sailing to the new world, a-spinning on her loom.
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