“‘Blessed St. Patrick!’ croaked the voice, ’whativer are ye kicking up such a shindy out there for?  Whativer d’ye want wid an old woman, and niver a livin’ sowl in the house ’cept meself and Kathleen in her coffin?’

“‘Kathleen is dead, then?’ said the lieutenant with a grin.

“‘Save yer honor’s presence, she’s off to glory, an’ as dead as a herrin,’ replied the voice.

“‘Really!’ said the lieutenant, ‘and where is Phil Doolan?’

“‘Och, yer honor? he’s gone to get some potheen for the wake.’

“‘Well,’ said the lieutenant, ’I should like to take a share in waking the defunct—­what’s her name?’

“‘Kathleen, yer honor.’

“‘Well, just let us in to take a last look at the worthy creature.’

“The door then creaked on its rusty hinges, and we entered.  Not a soul, however, was to be seen anywhere, save and except the old woman herself.  The coffin containing the remains of Kathleen, resting on two stools, stood in the middle of the floor, with a plate of salt as usual on the lid.  I fairly thought I had been done, and looked upon myself as the laughing stock of the entire fleet.”

“So far,” remarked Jack, “your story has been all right, but the last episode was rather negligently handled.”

“How?” inquired Willis.

“Why, you did not make enough of the coffin scene; your description is too meagre.  You should have said, that the wind blew without in fierce gusts, the weathercocks screeched on the roofs, and caused you to dread that the ghost of the defunct was coming down the chimney; large flakes of snow were rushing through the half-open door; a solitary rushlight dimly lit up the chamber, and cast frightful shadows upon the wall.”

“Well; but the night was fine, and there was not a breath of wind.”

“What about that?  A little wind, more or less, a weathercock or so, some drops of rain, or a few flakes of snow, do not materially detract from the truth, whilst they heighten the color of the picture.”

“And if some lightning tearing through the clouds were added?”

“Yes, that would most undoubtedly increase the effect; but go on with your story.”

“I knew Phil to be an artful dodger, and was determined not to be foiled by a mere trick, so I laid hold of a lantern and closely examined the walls and flooring.  My investigation was successful, for just under the coffin I detected traces of a trap-door.”

“’Well, my good woman, what have you got down there?” inquired the lieutenant.

“’Is it underground, ye mane, yer honor? divil a hail’s there, if it isn’t the rats.’

“’Well, just remove the coffin a little aside; we shall see if we cannot pepper some of the rats for you.’

“Here the old woman appealed to a vast number of saints, and protested against Kathleen’s remains being disturbed.  The lieutenant, however, grew tired of this farce, and ordered the coffin to be shifted.  A sailor accordingly laid hold of each end.