ly acceptable to others who may have been less
fortunate.

During dinner there was no conversation about Herbert Fitzgerald,
or the committee, or Father Barney. The old gardener, who waited at
table with all his garden clothes on him, and whom the neighbours,
with respectful deference, called Mr. Townsend's butler, was a Roman
Catholic; as, indeed, were all the servants at the glebe, and as are,
necessarily, all the native servants in that part of the country. And
though Mr. and Mrs. Townsend put great trust in their servant Jerry
as to the ordinary duties of gardening, driving, and butlering,
they would not knowingly trust him with a word of their habitual
conversation about the things around them. Their idea was, that every
word so heard was carried to the priest, and that the priest kept a
book in which every word so uttered was written down. If this were so
through the parish, the priest must in truth have had something to
do, both for himself and his private secretary; for, in spite of all
precautions that were taken, Jerry and Jerry's brethren no doubt did
hear much of what was said. The repetitions to the priest, however, I
must take leave to doubt.

But after dinner, when the hot water and whisky were on the table,
when the two old arm-chairs were drawn cozily up on the rug, each
with an old footstool before it; when the faithful wife had mixed
that glass of punch--or jug rather, for, after the old fashion, it
was brewed in such a receptacle; and when, to inspire increased
confidence, she had put into it a small extra modicum of the eloquent
spirit, then the mouth of the rector was opened, and Mrs. Townsend
was made happy.

"And so Father Barney and I have met at last," said he, rather
cheerily, as the hot fumes of the toddy regaled his nostrils.

"And how did he behave now?"

"Well, he was decent enough--that is, as far as absolute behaviour
went. You can't have a silk purse from off a sow's ear, you know."

"No, indeed; and goodness knows there's plenty of the sow's ear about
him. But now, Aeneas, dear, do tell me how it all was, just from the
beginning."

"He was there before me," said the husband.

"Catch a weasel asleep!" said the wife.

"I didn't catch him asleep at any rate," continued he. "He was there
before me; but when I went into the little room where they hold the
meeting--"

"It's at Berryhill, isn't it?"

"Yes, at the Widow Casey's. To see that woman bowing and scraping
and curtsyi