father quarreled with him last week about the Easter dues: and Father
Tom said he'd not give him the 'rites': and that's lucky now! Come along
now, quick, for we've no time to lose: it must be all finished before the
day breaks."

My father did not lose much time at his toilet, for he just wrapped his
big coat 'round him, and slipping on his brogues, left the house. I sat up
in the basket and listened till they were gone some minutes; and then, in
a costume as light as my parent's, set out after them, to watch the course
of the adventure. I thought to take a short cut, and be before them; but
by bad luck I fell into a bog-hole, and only escaped being drowned by a
chance. As it was, when I reached the house the performance had already
begun.

I think I see the whole scene this instant before my eyes, as I sat on a
little window with one pane, and that a broken one, and surveyed the
proceeding. It was a large room, at one end of which was a bed, and beside
it a table, with physic bottles, and spoons, and teacups; a little farther
off was another table, at which sat Billy Scanlan, with all manner of
writing materials before him.

The country people sat two, sometimes three, deep round the walls, all
intently eager and anxious for the coming event. Peter himself went from
place to place, trying to smother his grief, and occasionally helping the
company to whisky--which was supplied with more than accustomed
liberality.

All my consciousness of the deceit and trickery could not deprive the
scene of a certain solemnity. The misty distance of the half-lighted room;
the highly wrought expression of the country people's faces, never more
intensely excited than at some moment of this kind; the low, deep-drawn
breathings, unbroken save by a sigh or a sob--the tribute of affectionate
sorrow to some lost friend, whose memory was thus forcibly brought back:
these, I repeat it, were all so real, that, as I looked, a thrilling sense
of awe stole over me, and I actually shook with fear.

A low, faint cough, from the dark corner where the bed stood, seemed to
cause even a deeper stillness; and then in a silence where the buzzing of
a fly would have been heard, my father said, "Where's Billy Scanlan? I
want to make my will!"

"He's here, father!" said Peter, taking Billy by the hand and leading him
to the bedside.

"Write what I bid ye, Billy, and be quick; for I haven't a long time afore
me here. I die a good Catholic, though Fat