Tis me, father," I said for fear he mightn't see me and go away again.
I couldn't see him at all.
The place the voice came from was under the moulding, about level with my knees, so I took a good grip of the moulding and swung myself down till I saw the astonished face of a young priest looking up at me.
He had to put his head on one side to see me,
and I had to put mine on one side to see him, so we were more or less talking to one another upsidedown.
It struck me as a queer way of hearing confessions,
but I didn't feel it my place to criticise.