“The elephant’s trunk then encircled the young man’s body, and placing him gently upon its back, the huge creature ambled away with its prize to the depths of the jungle.”

CHAPTER XXXIII

Little Mary Twomey, footing it into Cluhir on a misty Saturday morning, with a basket of fowl under her brown and buff shawl, was not sorry when, from a side road on the line of march, a donkey-cart, driven by an acquaintance, drew forth at the instant of her passing.

“God bless ye, John Brien,” she said, when the suitable salutations and comments on the weather had been exchanged, with the rigorous courtesy observed by such as Mary Twomey and John Brien with one another, “this basket is very weighty on me—­”

“Put it up on the butt, ma’am,” responded John Brien.  “Put it up, for God’s sake, and let you sit up with it.  Sure the ass is able for more than yourself!”

This referred, with polite facetiousness, to Mrs. Twomey’s stature, and was taken by her in excellent part.

She uttered a brief screech.  “Isn’t it what they say they puts the best of goods in the small passels?” she demanded; “but for all, I wouldn’t wish it to be too small altogether!  ‘Look!’ I says to that owld man I have, ’Look!  When I’ll be dead, let ye tell the car-pennther that he’ll make the coffin a bit-een too long, the way the people’ll think the womaneen inside in it wasn’t altogether too small entirely!’”

“Arrah, don’t talk of dyin’ for a while, ma’am!” said John Brien, gallantly.  “Aren’t you an’ me about the one age, and faith, when you’re dyin’ I’ll be sending for the priest for meself!”

“Well, please God, the pair of us’ll knock out a spell yet!” responded Mrs. Twomey, cheerfully; “for as little as I am, the fly itself wouldn’t like to die!”

John Brien did not question this assertion.  “The ’fluenzy is very raging these times,” he remarked.

“’Tis a nassty, dirty disease altogether, God help us!” said Mrs. Twomey, with feeling.

“It is, and very numerous,” replied John Brien.  “There’s people dying now that never died before.”

This statement presented no difficulty to Mrs. Twomey, since she had no desire to exult over Mr. Brien as being what is often called a typical Irishman, and was able to accept its rather excessive emphasis in the sense in which it was intended.

“I’m told Major Lowry is sick enough,” went on John Brien; “an impression like, on the heart, they tells me.”

“He have enough to trouble him,” said Mrs. Twomey, portentously; “and I wouldn’t wish it to him.  A fine man he was.  Ye’d stand in the road to look at him!  The highest gentleman of the day!”

“Well, that’s true enough,” said John Brien, cautiously.  “There’s some says the servants in the house didn’t get their hire this two years.”