“Well, when a body dies even a natural death, it’s wondherful how soon it goes about; but when they come to an untimely one, it spreads like fire on a dry mountain.”

“Was there no inquest?” asked Andy Morrow.

“The sorra inquist, not making you an ill answer, sir—­the people weren’t so exact in them days:  but any how the man was dead, and what good could an inquist do him?  The only thing that grieved them was, that they both died without the priest; and well it might, for it’s an awful thing entirely to die without having the clargy’s hands over a body.  I tould you that the news of his death spread over all the counthry in less than no time.  Accordingly, in the coorse of the day, their relations began to come to the place; but, any way, messengers had been sent especially for them.

“The squire very kindly lent sheets for them both to be laid out in, and mould candle-sticks to hould the lights; and, God he knows, ’twas a grievous sight to see the father and mother both stretched beside one another in their poor place, and their little orphans about them; the gorsoons,—­them that had sense enough to know their loss,—­breaking their hearts, the craythurs, and so hoarse, that they weren’t able to cry or spake.  But, indeed, it was worse to see the two young things going over, and wanting to get acrass to waken their daddy and mammy, poor desolit childher!

“When the corpses were washed and dressed, they looked uncommonly well, consitherin’.  Larry, indeed, didn’t bear death so well as Sally; but you couldn’t meet a purtier corpse than she was in a day’s travelling.  I say, when they were washed and dressed, their friends and neighbors knelt down around them, and offered up a Pather and Ave a-piece, for the good of their sowls:  when this was done, they all raised the keena, stooping over them at a half bend, clapping their hands, and praising them, as far as they could say anything good of them; and indeed, the craythurs, they were never any one’s enemy but their own, so that nobody could say an ill word of either of them.  Bad luck to it for potteen-work every day it rises! only for it, that couple’s poor orphans wouldn’t be left without father or mother as they were; nor poor Hurrish go the gray gate he did, if he had his father living, may be; but having nobody to bridle him in, he took to horse riding for the squire, and then to staling them for himself.  He was hanged afterwards, along with Peter Doraghy Crolly, that shot Ned Wilson’s uncle of the Black Hills.

“After the first keening, the friends and neighbors took their sates about the corpse.  In a short time, whiskey, pipes, snuff, and tobacco came, and every one about the place got a glass and a fresh pipe.  Tom, when he held his glass in his hand, looking at his dead brother, filled up to the eyes, and couldn’t for some time get out a word; at last, when he was able to spake—­’Poor Larry,’says he, ’you’re lying there low before me,