nough
fur a week or two--don't kill us all entirely!"

Shortly after midnight Anna went over to see how things were at the
wake. They told her of the singing of the children, of the beautiful
chapther by Misther Gwynn, and the "feelin'" by Graham Shannon. The whey
was sufficient and nearly everybody had "a dhrap o' th' craither" and a
bite of fadge.

"Ah, Anna dear," Eliza said, "shure it's yerself that knows how t' make
a moi'ty go th' longest distance over dhry throats an' empty stomachs!
'Deed it was a revival an' a faste in wan, an' th' only pity is that
poor Henry cudn't enjoy it!"

The candles were burned low in the sconces, the flowers around the
corpse had faded, a few tongues, loosened by stimulation, were still
wagging, but the laughter had died down and the stories were all told.
There had been a hair-raising ghost story that had sent a dozen home
before the _respectable_ time of departure. The empty stools had been
carried outside and were largely occupied by lovers.

Anna drew Eliza's head to her breast and pressing it gently to her said,
"I'm proud of ye, dear, ye've borne up bravely! Now I'm goin' t' haave
a few winks in th' corner, for there'll be much to do th' morra."

Scarcely had the words died on her lips when Kitty Coyle gave vent to a
scream of terror that brought the mourners to the door and terrified
those outside.

"What ails ye, in th' name of God?" Anna asked. She was too terrified to
speak at once. The mourners crowded closely together.

"Watch!" Kitty said as she pointed with her finger toward Conlon's
pigsty. Johnny Murdock had his arm around Kitty's waist to keep her
steady and assure her of protection. They watched and waited. It was a
bright moonlight night, and save for the deep shadows of the houses and
hedges as clear as day. Tensely nerve-strung, open-mouthed and wild-eyed
stood the group for what seemed to them hours. In a few minutes a white
figure was seen emerging from the pigsty. The watchers were transfixed
in terror. Most of them clutched at each other nervously. Old Mrs.
Houston, the midwife who had told the ghost story at the wake, dropped
in a heap. Peter Hannen and Jamie Wilson carried her indoors.

The white figure stood on the pathway leading through the gardens for a
moment and then returned to the sty. Most of the watchers fled to their
homes. Some didn't move because they had lost the power to do so. Others
just stood.

"It's a hoax an' a joke," Anna said.