John McCullagh February 16, 2005
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Paddy and Bridget lived in a cottage high up on the far side of Slew Gullion and had few visitors.  It was raining cats and dogs the day the parish priest came to call.  He had one of them new-fangled umberella things to protect himself and he unfurled it to enter the narrow door of the house.


 Once inside, he put it up again and left it on the hearth to dry.

 
The sun was shining in the sky when the priest left and he forgot the umberella for he didn’t need it.  Paddy spotted it on the hearth and he struggled unsuccessfully to get it lowered.  Then he tried to manoeuvre it through the door the way it was, to give it back to the priest before he’d get too far.
 
He couldn’t.  He left it and raced after him.
 
‘Father,’ he gasped.  ‘You left your wee house!’
 
The priest smiled and returned to the house.  With a deft flick, the umberella went down and he tied it closed.  Then he left.
 
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ says Bridget.
 
‘The power of the priest?’

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