“‘Sure it’s impossible,’ says my father, ‘it’s gettin’ sleepy you are?’

“‘Oh, divil a taste,’ says Larry, ‘I’m only shuttin’ my eyes,’ says he, ‘to keep out the parfume of the tibacky smoke, that’s makin’ them wather,’ says he.  ‘So don’t you mind other people’s business,’ says he stiff enough (for he had a mighty high stomach av his own, rest his sowl), ‘and go on,’ says he, ‘with your story, for I’m listenin’,’ says he, shuttin’ down his eyes.

“Well, when my father seen spakin’ was no use, he went on with his story.—­By the same token, it was the story of Jim Soolivan and his ould goat he was tellin’—­an’ a pleasant story it is—­an’ there was so much divarsion in it, that it was enough to waken a dormouse, let alone to pervint a Christian goin’ asleep.  But, faix, the way my father tould it, I believe there never was the likes heerd sinst nor before for he bawled out every word av it, as if the life was fairly leavin’ him thrying to keep ould Larry awake; but, faix, it was no use, for the hoorsness came an him, an’ before he kem to the end of his story, Larry O’Connor beginned to snore like a bagpipes.

“‘Oh, blur an’ agres,’ says my father, ‘isn’t this a hard case,’ says he, ‘that ould villain, lettin’ on to be my friend, and to go asleep this way, an’ us both in the very room with a sperit,’ says he.  ’The crass o’ Christ about us,’ says he; and with that he was goin’ to shake Lawrence to waken him, but he just remimbered if he roused him, that he’d surely go off to his bed, an lave him completely alone, an’ that id be by far worse.

“‘Oh thin,’ says my father, ’I’ll not disturb the poor boy.  It id be neither friendly nor good-nathured,’ says he, ’to tormint him while he is asleep,’ says he; ‘only I wish I was the same way myself,’ says he.

“An’ with that he beginned to walk up an’ down, an’ sayin’ his prayers, until he worked himself into a sweat, savin’ your presence.  But it was all no good; so he dhrunk about a pint of sperits, to compose his mind.

“‘Oh,’ says he, ’I wish to the Lord I was as asy in my mind as Larry there.  Maybe,’ says he, ‘if I thried I could go asleep’; an’ with that he pulled a big arm-chair close beside Lawrence, an’ settled himself in it as well as he could.

“But there was one quare thing I forgot to tell you.  He couldn’t help, in spite av himself, lookin’ now an’ thin at the picthur, an’ he immediately observed that the eyes av it was follyin’ him about, an’ starin’ at him, an’ winkin’ at him, wherever he wint.  ‘Oh,’ says he, when he seen that, ‘it’s a poor chance I have,’ says he; ‘an’ bad luck was with me the day I kem into this unforthunate place,’ says he; ’but any way there’s no use in bein’ freckened now,’ says he; ’for if I am to die, I may as well parspire undaunted,’ says he.