olivan--Jim Soolivan,' says Nell, sittin' up in the bed, an'
gropin' for a quart bottle iv holy wather she used to hang by the back
iv the bed, 'don't come in, darlin'--there's holy wather here,' says
she; 'but tell me from where you are is there anything that's throublin'
your poor sinful sowl?' says she. 'An' tell me how many masses 'ill make
you asy, an' by this crass, I'll buy you as many as you want,' says she.

'I don't know what the divil you mane,' says Jim.

'Go back,' says she, 'go back to glory, for God's sake,' says she.

'Divil's cure to the bit iv me 'ill go back to glory, or anywhere else,'
says he, 'this blessed night; so open the door at onst' an' let me in,'
says he.

'The Lord forbid,' says she.

'By jabers, you'd betther,' says he, 'or it 'ill be the worse for you,'
says he; an' wid that he fell to wallopin' the door till he was fairly
tired, an' Andy an' his wife crassin' themselves an' sayin' their
prayers for the bare life all the time.

'Jim Soolivan,' says she, as soon as he was done, 'go back, for God's
sake, an' don't be freakenin' me an' your poor fatherless childhren,'
says she.

'Why, you bosthoon, you,' says Jim, 'won't you let your husband in,'
says he, 'to his own house?' says he.

'You WOR my husband, sure enough,' says she, 'but it's well you know,
Jim Soolivan, you're not my husband NOW,' says she.

'You're as dhrunk as can be consaved, says Jim.

'Go back, in God's name, pacibly to your grave,' says Nell.

'By my sowl, it's to my grave you'll sind me, sure enough,' says he,
'you hard-hearted bain', for I'm jist aff wid the cowld,' says he.

'Jim Sulivan,' says she, 'it's in your dacent coffin you should be, you
unforthunate sperit,' says she; 'what is it's annoyin' your sowl, in the
wide world, at all?' says she; 'hadn't you everything complate?' says
she, 'the oil, an' the wake, an' the berrin'?' says she.

'Och, by the hoky,' says Jim, 'it's too long I'm makin' a fool iv
mysilf, gostherin' wid you outside iv my own door,' says he, 'for it's
plain to be seen,' says he, 'you don't know what your're sayin', an' no
one ELSE knows what you mane, you unforthunate fool,' says he; 'so, onst
for all, open the door quietly,' says he, 'or, by my sowkins, I'll not
lave a splinther together,' says he.

Well, whin Nell an' Andy seen he was getting vexed, they beginned to
bawl out their prayers, with the fright, as if the life was lavin' them;
an' the more he bate the door, the lo