He pointed to the portrait of his grandfather on the wall to his right.

―Do you see that old chap up there, John? he said. He was a good Irishman when there was no money in the job. He was condemned to death as a whiteboy. But he had a saying about our clerical friends, that he would never let one of them put his two feet under his mahogany.

Dante broke in angrily:

―If we are a priestridden race we ought to be proud of it! They are the apple of God’s eye. Touch them not , says Christ, for they are the apple of My eye.

―And can we not love our country then? asked Mr. Casey. Are we not to follow the man that was born to lead us?