uld not therefore be
said to be much affected by the communication. But if he was not, his
mother was. She had made up her mind that Anty was to die; that she
was to pay for the doctor--the wake, and the funeral, and that she
would have a hardship and grievance to boast of, and a subject of
self-commendation to enlarge on, which would have lasted her till her
death; and she consequently felt something like disappointment at being
ordered to administer to Anty a mutton chop and a glass of sherry every
day at one o'clock. Not that the widow was less assiduous, or less
attentive to Anty's wants now that she was convalescent; but she
certainly had not so much personal satisfaction, as when she was able
to speak despondingly of her patient to all her gossips.

"Poor cratur!" she used to say--"it's all up with her now; the Lord be
praised for all his mercies. She's all as one as gone, glory be to God
and the Blessed Virgin. Shure no good ever come of ill-got money;--not
that she was iver to blame. Thank the Lord, av' I have a penny saved at
all, it was honestly come by; not that I shall have when this is done
and paid for, not a stifle; (stiver [49] Mrs Kelly probably meant)--but
what's that!" and she snapped her fingers to show that the world's gear
was all dross in her estimation.--"She shall be dacently sthretched,
though she is a Lynch, and a Kelly has to pay for it. Whisper,
neighbour; in two years' time there'll not be one penny left on another
of all the dirthy money Sim Lynch scraped together out of the
gutthers."

[FOOTNOTE 49: stiver--a Dutch coin worth almost nothing]

There was a degree of triumph in these lamentations, a tone of
self-satisfied assurance in the truth of her melancholy predictions,
which showed that the widow was not ill at ease with herself. When Anty
was declared out of danger, her joy was expressed with much more
moderation.

"Yes, thin," she said to Father Pat Geoghegan, "poor thing, she's
rallying a bit. The docthor says maybe she'll not go this time; but
he's much in dread of a re-claps--"

"Relapse, Mrs Kelly, I suppose?"

"Well, relapse, av' you will, Father Pat--relapse or reclaps, it's
pretty much the same I'm thinking; for she'd niver get through another
bout. God send we may be well out of the hobble this day twelvemonth.
Martin's my own son, and ain't above industhrying, as his father and
mother did afore him, and I won't say a word agin him; but he's brought
more throuble