“’Why then, your Reverence, except I get sich a darling as Molly Bane, here—­and by this and that, it’s you that is the darling Molly asthore—­what come over me, at all at all, that I didn’t think of you,’ says the little man, drawing close to her, and poor Mary smiling good-naturedly at his spirit.

“‘Well, and what if you did get such a darling as Molly Bane, there?’ says his Reverence.

“’Why, except I get the likes of her for a wife—­upon second thoughts, I don’t like marriage, any way,’ said Billy, winking against the priest—­’I lade such a life as your Reverence; and by the powdhers, it’s a thousand pities that I wasn’t made into a priest, instead of a tailor.  For, you see, if I had’ says he, giving a verse of an old song—­

     ’For you see, if I had,
     It’s I’d be the lad
     That would show all my people such larning;
     And when they’d do wrong,
     Why, instead of a song,
     I’d give them a lump of a sarmin.’

“‘Billy,’ says my father-in-law, ’why don’t you make a hearty dinner, man alive? go back to your sate and finish your male—­you’re aiting nothing to signify.’  ‘Me!’ says Billy—­’why, I’d scorn to ate a hearty dinner; and, I’d have you to know, Matt Finigan, that it wasn’t for the sake of your dinner I came here, but in regard to your family, and bekase I wished him well that’s sitting beside your daughter:  and it ill becomes your father’s son to cast up your dinner in my face, or any one of my family; but a blessed minute longer I’ll not stay among you.  Give me your hand, Shane Fadh, and you, Mary—­may goodness grant you pace and happiness every night and day you both rise out of your beds.  I made that coat your husband has on his back beside you—­and a, betther fit was never made; but I didn’t think it would come to my turn to have my dinner cast up this a-way, as if I was aiting it for charity.’

“‘Hut, Billy,’ says I, ’sure it was all out of kindness; he didn’t mane to offind you.’

“‘It’s no matter,’ says Billy, beginning to cry, ’he did offend me; and it’s, low days with me to bear an affront from him, or the likes of him; but by the powdhers-o’-war,’ says he, getting into a great rage, ’I won’t bear it,—­only as you’re an old man yourself, I’ll not rise my hand to you; but, let any man now that has the heart to take up your quarrel, come out and stand before me on the sod here.’

“Well, by this time, you’d tie all that were present with three straws, to see Billy stripping himself, and his two wrists not thicker than drumsticks.  While the tailor was raging, for he was pretty well up with what he had taken, another person made his appearance at the far end of the boreen* that led to the green where we sot.  He was mounted upon the top of a sack that was upon the top of a sober-looking baste enough—­God knows; he jogging along at his ase, his legs dangling down from the sack on each side, and the long skirts of his coat hanging down behind him.  Billy was now getting pacified, bekase they gave way to him a little; so the fun went round, and they sang, roared, danced, and coorted, right and left.