Nearly every family north of the river had some cause for
loving the little man. He was a tireless walker, making the round of
his parish every week, no matter what the weather. He had a little
house built for him the year before at the Forks of the Assiniboine,
where he had planted a garden, set out plants and flowers, and made it
a little bower of beauty; but he had lived in it only one summer, for
an impecunious English couple, who needed a roof to cover them rather
urgently, had taken possession of it during his absence, and the kind-
hearted little father could not bring himself to ask them to vacate.
When his friends remonstrated with him, he turned the conversation by
telling them of another and a better Man of whom it was written that He
"had not where to lay His head."
Father O'Flynn was greeted with delight, by the younger ones
especially. The seven little Breezes were very demonstrative, and
Thomas Shouldice resolved to warn their father against the priest's
malign influence. He recalled a sentence or two from "Maria Monk,"
which said something like this: "Give us a child until he is ten years
old, and let us teach him our doctrine, and he's ours for evermore."
"Oh, they're deep ones, them Jesuits!"
Father O'Flynn was just in time for the "walk."
"Do you know what an Orange walk is, father?" one of the American women
asked, really looking for information.
"Yes, daughter, yes," the little priest answered, a shadow coming into
his merry grey eyes.
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