Well, he was just on his way up stairs, and had reached the first landing, when he hears a voice at his ear, shouting, ‘Jack—­Jack—­Jack Magennis!’ Jack could have spitted anybody for coming to disturb him at such a criticality.  ’Jack Magennis!’ says the voice.  Jack looked about to see who it was that called him, and there he found himself lying on the green Rath, a little above his mother’s cabin, of a fine, calm summer’s evening, in the month of June.  His mother was stooping over him, with her mouth at his ear, striving to waken him, by shouting and shaking him out of his sleep.

“‘Oh! by this and by that, mother,’ says Jack, ’what did you waken me for?’

“‘Jack, avourneen,’ says the mother, ’sure and you war lying grunting, and groaning, and snifthering there, for all the world as if you had the cholic, and I only nudged you for fraid you war in pain.’

“‘I wouldn’t for a thousand guineas,’ says Jack, ’that ever you wakened me, at all, at all; but whisht, mother, go into the house, and I’ll be afther you in less than no time.’

“The mother went in, and the first thing Jack did was to try the rock; and, sure enough, there he found as much money as made him the richest man that ever was in the country.  And what was to his credit, when, he did grow rich, he wouldn’t let his cabin be thrown down, but built a fine castle on a spot near it, where he could always have it under his eye, to prevent him from getting proud.  In the coorse of time, a harper, hearing the story, composed a tune upon it, which every body knows is called the ‘Little House under the Hill’ to this day, beginning with—­

     ’Hi for it, ho for it, hi for it still;
     Och, and whoo! your sowl—­hi for the little house under the hill!’

“So you see that was the way the great Magennisses first came by their wealth, and all because Jack was indistrious, and an obadient, dutiful, and tindher son to his helpless ould mother, and well he deserved what he got, ershi misha (* Say I.) Your healths, Father Ned—­Father Pether—­all kinds of happiness to us; and there’s my story.”

* * * * *

“Well,” said Father Peter, “I think that dog was nothing more or less than a downright cur, that deserved the lash nine times a day, if it was only for his want of respect to the clergy; if he had given me such insolence, I solemnly declare I would have bate the devil out of him with a hazel cudgel, if I failed to exorcise him with a prayer.”

Father Ned looked at the simple and credulous curate with an expression of humor and astonishment.

“Paddy,” said he to the servant, “will you let us know what the night’s doing?”

Paddy looked out.  “Why, your Rev’rence, it’s a fine night, all out, and cleared up it is bravely.”

At this moment the stranger awoke.

“Sir,” said Father Ned, “you missed an amusing story, in consequence of your somnolency.”