happened to be present--"three boys an' one girl."

"Bless my soul, and so it is indeed, Phaddy, and I ought to know it; an
how is your wife Sarah?--I mean, I hope Mrs. Sheemus Phaddhy is well: by
the by, is that old complaint of hers gone yet?--a pain in the stomach,
I think it was, that used to trouble her; I hope in God, Phaddhy,
she's getting over it, poor thing. Indeed, I remember telling her, last
Easter, when she came to her duty, to eat oaten bread and butter
with water-grass every morning fasting, it cured myself of the same
complaint."

"Why, thin, I'm very much obliged to your Rev'rence for purscribin' for
her," replied Phaddhy; "for, sure enough, she has neither pain nor ache,
at the present time, for the best rason in the world, docthor, that
she'll be dead jist seven years, if God spares your Rev'rence an' myself
till to-morrow fortnight, about five o'clock in the mornin'."

This was more than Father Philemy could stand with a good conscience, so
after getting himself out of the dilemma as well as he could, he shook
Phaddhy again very cordially by the hand, saying, "Well, good-bye,
Phaddliy, and God be good to poor Sarah's soul--I now remember her
funeral, sure enough, and a dacent one it was, for indeed she was a
woman that had everybody's good word--and, between you and me, she made
a happy death, that's as far as we can judge here; for, after all, there
may be danger, Phaddy, there may be danger, you understand--however,
it's your own business, and your duty, too, to think of that; but I
believe you're not the man that would be apt to forget her."

"Phaddhy, ye thief o' the world," said Jim Dillon, when Father Philemy
was gone, there's no comin' up to ye; how could you make sich a fool of
his Rev'rence, as to tell im that Katty was dead, and that you had
only four childher, an' you has eleven o' them, an' the wife in good
health?"

"Why, jist, Tim," replied Phaddhy, with his usual shrewdness, "to tache
his Reverence himself to practise truth a little; if he didn't know
that I got the stockin' of guineas and the Linaskey farm by my brother
Barney's death, do ye think that he'd notish me at all at all?--not
himself, avick; an' maybe he won't be afther comin' round to me for a
sack of my best oats,* instead of the bushel I used to give him, and
houldin' a couple of stations wid me every year."

* The priest accompanied by a couple of servants each
with a horse and sack, collects from such