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After we had been at work a few weeks, Father Backhaus, before stepping down from the packing-case, said: "I want someone to teach in a school; if there is anyone here willing to do so, I should like to see him after Mass." I was looking round for Philip among the crowd when he came up, eager and excited. "I am thinking of going in to speak to the priest about that school," he said.
I see," replied the Donkey. "We are in a bad temper this morning." Father Backhaus was often seen walking with long strides among the holes and hillocks on Bendigo Flat or up and down the gullies, on a visit to some dying digger, for Death would not wait until we had all made our pile. His messengers were going around all the time; dysentery, scurvy, or fever; and the priest hurried after them.
Philip, especially hated them as enemies of his country, and the more so because they were his countrymen, all but one, who was a black man. The people in and around the church were not all Catholics. He said the priest did not preach with as much energy as the ministers in Scotland. And yet I thought Father Backhaus' sermon had that day been "powerful," as the Yankees would say.
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