He was at a loss how to open the parlous subject, how to communicate to Crispin the amazing news upon which he had stumbled.
"Slife' Hogan," laughed Crispin dreamily, "I little thought it was to you those crop-ears carried me with such violence.

I little thought, indeed, ever to see you again.

But you have prospered, you knave, since that night you left Penrith." And he turned his head the better to survey the Irishman.
"Aye, I have prospered," Hogan assented.

"My life is a sort of parable of the fatted son and the prodigal calf.

They tell me there is greater joy in heaven over the repentance of a sinner than--than--Plague on it! How does it go ?" "Than over the downfall of a saint ?" suggested Crispin.
"I'll swear that's not the text, but any of my troopers could quote it you; every man of them is an incarnate Church militant." He paused, and Crispin laughed softly.