“‘You’re an ungrateful creature,’ says he, ‘and if you only knew, you'd be trembling in your skin before me this minute.
“‘Devil a tremble,’ says I, ‘after walking six miles this way.’
“‘You're an. obstinate, hard-hearted sinner, says he, ‘and it's no use in telling you.’
“‘Telling me what?’ says I, for I was getting curious to know what he meant.
“‘Mickey,’ says he, changing his voice, and putting his head down close to me, ‘Mickey, I saw your father last night.’
“‘The saints be merciful to us,’ said I, ‘did ye?
“‘I did,’ says he.
“‘Tear-an-ages, says I, ‘did he tell you what he did with the new corduroys he bought in the fair?’
“‘Oh, then, you are a cowld-hearted creature,’ says he, ‘and I'll not lose time with you.’ With that he was going to ride away, when I took hold of the bridle.
“‘Father, darling, says I, ‘God pardon me, but them breeches is goin’ between me an’ my night’s rest; but tell me about my father!’
“‘Oh! then, he’s in a melancholy state!’
“‘Whereabouts is he?’ says I.
“‘In purgathory,’ says he; ‘but he won't be there long.’
“‘Well, says I, ‘that’s a comfort, anyhow.’
“‘I am glad you think so,’ says he; ‘but there's more of the other opinion.’
“‘What's that?’ says I.
“‘That hell’s worse.’
“‘Oh! meila marther,’ says I, ‘is that it?’
“‘Ay, that’s it.’
“Well, I was so terrified and frightened, I said nothing for some time, but trotted along beside the priest's horse.
“‘Father, says I, ‘how long will it be before they send him where you know?’
“‘It will not be long now,’ says he, ‘for they're tired entirely with him; they've no peace night nor day,’ says he, ‘Mickey, your father is a mighty hard man.’
“‘True for you, Father Roach,’ said I to myself: ‘av he had only the ould stick with the scythe in it, I wish them joy of his company.’
“‘Mickey,’ says he, ‘I see you're grieved, and I don't wonder; ‘sure, it’s a great disgrace to a decent family.’
“‘Troth, it is, says I, ‘but my father always liked low company. Could nothing be done for him now, Father Roach?’ says I, looking up in the priest’s face.
“‘I’m greatly afraid, Mickey, he was a bad man—a very bad man.’
“‘And ye think he'll go there?’ says I.
“‘Indeed, Mickey, I have my fears.’
“‘Upon my conscience,’ says I, ‘I believe you’re right, he was always a restless crayture.’
“‘But it doesn’t depend on him,’ says the priest crossly.
“‘And, then, who then?’ says I.
“‘Upon yourself, Mickey Free,’ says he; ‘God pardon you for it, too.’
