“Well, the best way is to say nothin’, an’ to hear nothin’, till his Reverence spates out, an’ thin we’ll see what can be done.”

Ellish’s sagacity had not misled her.  In a few months afterwards Father Mulcahy was asked by young Dan Connell to dine; and as he and holiest Ellish were sitting together, in the course of the evening, the priest broached the topic as follows:—­

“Mrs. Connell, I think this whiskey is better than my four-year old, that I bought at the auction the other day, although Dan says mine’s better.  Between ourselves, that Dan is a clever, talented young fellow; and if he happens upon a steady, sensible wife, there is no doubt but he will die a respectable man.  But, by the by, Mrs. Connell, you’ve never tried my whiskey; and upon my credit, you must soon, for I know your opinion would decide the question.”

“Is it worth while to decide it, your Reverence?  I suppose the thruth is, sir, that both is good enough for anyone; an’ I think that’s as much as we want.”

Thus far she went, but never alluded to Dan, judiciously throwing the onus of introducing that subject upon the priest.

“Dan says mine’s better,” observed Father Mulcahy; “and I would certainly give a great deal for his opinion upon that or any other subject, except theology.”

“You ought,” replied Ellish, “to be a bether judge of whiskey nor either Dan nor me; an’ I’ll tell you why—­you dhrink it in more places, and can make comparishment one wid another; but Dan an’ me is confined mostly to our own, an’ of that same we take very little, an’ the less the betther for people in business, or indeed for anybody.”

“Very true, Mrs. Connell!  But for all that, I won’t give up Dan’s judgment in anything within his own line of business, still excepting theology, for which, he hasn’t the learning.”

“He’s a good son, without tayology—­as good as ever broke the world’s bread,” said Peter, “glory be to God!  Although, for that matther, he ought to be as well acquainted wid tayology as your Reverence, in regard that he sells more of it nor you do.”

“A good son, they say, Mrs. Connell, will make a good husband.  I wonder you don’t think of settling him in life.  It’s full time.”

“Father, avourneen, we must lave that wid himself.  I needn’t be tellin’ you, that it ’ud be hard to find a girl able to bring what the girl that ’ud expect Dan ought to bring.”

This was a staggerer to the priest, who recruited his ingenuity by drinking Peter’s health, and Ellish’s.

“Have you nobody in your eye for him, Mrs. Connell?”

“Faith, I’ll engage she has,” replied Peter, with a ludicrous grin—­“I’ll venture for to say she has that.”

“Very right, Mrs. Connell; it’s all fair.  Might one ask who she is; for, to tell you the truth, Dan is a favorite of mine, and must make it a point to see him well settled.”

“Why, your Reverence,” replied Peter again, “jist the one you mintioned.”