‘Well, not so much, but marriages are made differently in these parts; there is not much courting here.’

And next day it was known in the village that James was going to marry Margaret Dirken.

His desire to excel the boys in dancing had caused a stir of gaiety in the parish, and for some time past there had been dancing in every house where there was a floor fit to dance upon; and if the cottager had no money to pay for a barrel of beer, James Bryden, who had money, sent him a barrel, so that Margaret might get her dance. She told him that they sometimes crossed over into another parish where the priest was not so averse to dancing, and James wondered. And next morning at Mass he wondered at their simple fervour. Some of them held their hands above their head as they prayed, and all this was very new and very old to James Bryden. But the obedience of these people to their priest surprised him. When he was a lad they had not been so obedient, or he had forgotten their obedience; and he listened in mixed anger and wonderment to the priest, who was scolding his parishioners, speaking to them by name, saying that he had heard there was dancing going on in their homes. Worse than that, he said he had seen boys and girls loitering about the roads, and the talk that went on was of one kind—love. He said that newspapers containing love stories were finding their way into the people’s houses, stories about love, in which there was nothing elevating or ennobling. The people listened, accepting the priest’s opinion without question. And their submission was pathetic. It was the submission of a primitive people clinging to religious authority, and Bryden contrasted the weakness and incompetence of the people about him with the modern restlessness and cold energy of the people he had left behind him.

One evening, as they were dancing, a knock came to the door, and the piper stopped playing, and the dancers whispered:

‘Someone has told on us; it is the priest.’

And the awe-stricken villagers crowded round the cottage fire, afraid to open the door. But the priest said that if they did not open the door he would put his shoulder to it and force it open. Bryden went towards the door, saying he would allow no one to threaten him, priest or no priest, but Margaret caught his arm and told him that if he said anything to the priest, the priest would speak against them from the altar, and they would be shunned by the neighbours. It was Mike Scully who went to the door and let the priest in, and he came in saying they were dancing their souls into hell.

‘I’ve heard of your goings on,’ he said—‘of your beer-drinking and dancing. I will not have it in my parish. If you want that sort of thing you had better go to America.’

’If that is intended for me, sir, I will go back tomorrow.

Margaret can follow.’

‘If isn’t the dancing, it’s the drinking I’m opposed to,’ said the priest, turning to Bryden.

‘Well, no one has drunk too much, sir,’ said Bryden.

‘But you’ll sit here drinking all night,’ and the priest’s eyes went toward the corner where the women had gathered, and Bryden felt that the priest looked on the women as more dangerous than the porter. ‘It’s after midnight,’ he said, taking out his watch.

By Bryden’s watch it was only half-past eleven, and while they were arguing about the time Mrs. Scully offered Bryden’s umbrella to the priest, for in his hurry to stop the dancing the priest had gone out without his; and, as if to show Bryden that he bore him no ill will, the priest accepted the loan of the umbrella, for he was thinking of the big marriage fee that Bryden would pay him.