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“‘T is thrue for you indade sir!” responded Biddy. Her eyes were full of tears at Father Miles’s tone and earnestness, but she could not have made clear to herself what he had said.

“Will I put a dhrap more of wather in it, your riverence?” she suggested, but the priest shook his head gently, and, taking a handful of parish papers out of his pocket, proceeded to hold conference with the master of the house. Biddy waited a while and at last ventured to clear away the good priest’s frugal supper. She left the glass, but he went away without touching it, and in the very afterglow of his parting blessing she announced that she had the makings of a pain within, and took the cordial with apparent approval.

Mike did not make any comment; he was tired and it was late, and long past their bedtime.

Biddy was wide awake and talkative from her tonic, and soon pursued the subject of conversation.

“What set the father out wid talking I do’ know?” she inquired a little ill-humoredly. “‘T was thrue for him that we kape a dacint shop anyhow, an’ how will it be in the way of poor Danny when it’s finding the manes to put him where he is?”

“‘T wa’n’t that he mint at all,” answered Mike from his pillow. “Didn’t ye hear what he said?” after endeavoring fruitlessly to repeat it in his own words–“He’s right, sure, about a b’y’s getting thim books and having no characther. He thinks well of Danny, and he knows no harm of him. Wisha! what ‘ll we do wid that b’y, Biddy, I do’ know! ‘Fadther,’ says he to me today, ‘why couldn’t ye wait an’ bring me into the wurruld on American soil,’ says he ‘and maybe I’d been prisident,’ says he, and ‘t was the thruth for him.”

“I’d rather for him to be a priest meself,” replied the mother.

“That’s what Father Miles said himself the other day,” announced Mike wide awake now. “‘I wish he’d the makings of a good priest,’ said he. ‘There’ll soon be need of good men and hard picking for ’em too,’ said he, and he let a great sigh. ”T is money they want and place they want, most o’ them bla’guard b’ys in the siminary. ‘T is the old fashioned min like mesilf that think however will they get souls through this life and through heaven’s gate at last, wid clane names and God-fearin’, dacint names left after them.’ Thim was his own words indade.”

“Idication was his cry always,” said Bridget, blessing herself in the dark. “‘T was only last confission he took no note of me own sins while he redded himself in the face with why don’t I kape Mary Ellen to the school, and myself not an hour in the day to rest my poor bones. ‘I have to kape her in, to mind the shmall childer,’ says I, an’ ‘t was thrue for me, so it was.” She gave a jerk under the blankets, which represented the courtesy of the occasion. She had a great respect and some awe for Father Miles, but she considered herself to have held her ground in that discussion.

“We’ll do our best by them all, sure,” answered Mike. “‘T is tribbling me money I am ivery day,” he added, gayly. “The lord-liftinant himsilf is no surer of a good bury-in’ than you an’ me. What if we made a priest of Dan intirely?” with a great outburst of proper pride. “A son of your own at the alther saying mass for you, Biddy Flaherty from Glengariff!”

“He’s no mind for it, more’s the grief,” answered the mother, unexpectedly, shaking her head gloomily on the pillow, “but marruk me wuds now, he’ll ride in his carriage when I’m under the sods, give me grace and you too Mike Bogan! Look at the airs of him and the toss of his head. ‘Mother,’ says he to me, ‘I’m goin’ to be a big man!’ says he, ‘whin I grow up. D’ ye think anybody ‘ll take me fer an Irishman?'”