Charred Wood. Bp. Francis Clement Kelley
is greatly honored," Father Murray remarked softly.
"Do you know him?"
"I have seen him before. He comes from a foreign state, but he is no stranger to America—nor to England, for that matter. Have you any acquaintance with the diplomats in London?"
"I have attended balls at which some of them were present."
"Does your memory recall one of that type?" persisted the priest.
"No, it does not."
"Mine does," said Father Murray. "I once had occasion to offer a prayer at an important banquet at which that gentleman was the guest of honor. He sat near me, and when I asked him where he had acquired such a mastery of English, he told me that he had been for five years minister at the Court of St. James. He is now accredited to Washington. Do you see why I suggest that Sihasset is greatly honored to-day?"
Mark could not conceal his astonishment.
"But why under heaven," he said, "should a foreign diplomat be mixed up in a camp of Slavic laborers?"
"There are strange things in diplomacy," said Father Murray. "And stranger things in Sihasset when the town constable has so much interest in your taking of tea at Killimaga. If you had turned around a moment ago, you would have seen our constable's coattails disappearing behind the bushes on our right."
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