It was a cold, crisp night in late November. The good old priest settled himself down for a good nights rest and opening his book case he took out a book to read in the uninterrupted silence of the night. Drawing up an armchair near the welcome log fire he sat down and mentally compared the luxury of being inside the cosy old library with the friendly log-fire and the drudgery of being out under the bitter cold night air treading up some country lanes on sick calls.
He was as much interested in his reading that he never felt the night passing until the clock on the mantle piece struck twelve. Then, he started