“You have been very frank,” he said.  “I am obliged to you.  A clergyman coming to a new charge cannot be better served than by having laid before him a clear statement of the views and—­and spiritual tendencies—­of his new flock, quite at the outset.  I feel it to be of especial value in this case, because I am young in years and in my ministry, and am conscious of a great weakness of the flesh.  I can see how daily contact with a people so attached to the old, simple, primitive Methodism of Wesley and Asbury may be a source of much strength to me.  I may take it,” he added upon second thought, with an inquiring glance at Mr. Winch, “that Brother Pierce’s description of our charge, and its tastes and needs, meets with your approval?”

Erastus Winch nodded his head and smiled expansively.  “Whatever Brother Pierce says, goes!” he declared.  The lawyer, sitting behind at the desk by the window, said nothing.

“The place is jest overrun with Irish,” Brother Pierce began again.  “They’ve got two Catholic churches here now to our one, and they do jest as they blamed please at the Charter elections.  It’d be a good idee to pitch into Catholics in general whenever you can.  You could make a hit that way.  I say the State ought to make ’em pay taxes on their church property.  They’ve no right to be exempted, because they ain’t Christians at all.  They’re idolaters, that’s what they are!  I know ’em!  I’ve had ‘em in my quarries for years, an’ they ain’t got no idee of decency or fair dealin’.  Every time the price of stone went up, every man of ’em would jine to screw more wages out o’ me.  Why, they used to keep account o’ the amount o’ business I done, an’ figger up my profits, an’ have the face to come an’ talk to me about ’em, as if that had anything to do with wages.  It’s my belief their priests put ’em up to it.  People don’t begin to reelize—­that church of idolatry ‘ll be the ruin o’ this country, if it ain’t checked in time.  Jest you go at ’em hammer ‘n’ tongs!  I’ve got Eyetalians in the quarries now.  They’re sensible fellows:  they know when they’re well off—­a dollar a day, an’ they’re satisfied, an’ everything goes smooth.”

“But they’re Catholics, the same as the Irish,” suddenly interjected the lawyer, from his place by the window.  Theron pricked up his ears at the sound of his voice.  There was an anti-Pierce note in it, so to speak, which it did him good to hear.  The consciousness of sympathy began on the instant to inspire him with courage.

“I know some people say they are,” Brother Pierce guardedly retorted “but I’ve summered an’ wintered both kinds, an’ I hold to it they’re different.  I grant ye, the Eyetalians are some given to jabbin’ knives into each other, but they never git up strikes, an’ they don’t grumble about wages.  Why, look at the way they live—­jest some weeds an’ yarbs dug up on the roadside, an’ stewed in a kettle with a piece o’ fat the size o’ your finger, an’ a loaf o’ bread, an’ they’re happy as a king.  There’s some sense in that; but the Irish, they’ve got to have meat an’ potatoes an’ butter jest as if—­as if—­”