me in the hollow (most of the northern roads are of this nature), and that when I got to the bottom, I was as sure to perceive their heads topping the next hill, and then gradually sinking out of my sight.  I was surprised at this, and perhaps a little nettled, that a fresh active young fellow should not have sufficient mettle readily to overtake two women.  I did stretch out, therefore, with some vigor, yet it was not till after a chase of two miles or so that I found myself abreast of them.  As soon as they noticed me they dropped a curtesy each, addressing me at the same time as a clergyman, and I returned their salutation with all due gravity.  Upon my inquiring how far they had travelled that day, it appeared that they had actually performed a journey seven miles longer than mine:  “We needn’t ax your Reverence if you’re for the Islan’?” said one of them.  “I am,” I replied, not caring to undeceive her as to my Reverentiality.

The truth was, in the midst of all my sanctity I felt proud of the old woman’s mistake as to my priesthood, and really had not so much ready virtue about me, on the occasion, as was sufficient to undeceive her.  I was even thankful to her for the inquiry, and thought, on a closer inspection, I perceived an uncommon portion of good sense and intelligence in her face.  “My very excellent, worthy woman,” said I, “how is it that you are able to travel at such a rate, when one would suppose you should be fatigued by this time, after so long a journey?”

“Musha?” said she, “but your Reverence ought to know that.”—­I felt puzzled at this:  “How should I know it?” said I.

“I’m sure,” she continued, “you couldn’t expect a poor ould crathur o’ sixty to travel at this rate, at all at all; except for raisons, your Reverence:”—­looking towards me quite confidently and knowingly.  This was still more oracular, and I felt very odd under it; my character for devotion was at stake, and I feared that the old lady was drawing me into a kind of vicious circle.  “Your Reverence knows, that for the likes o’ me, that can hardly move to the market of a Saturday, Lord help me! an’ home agin, for to travel at this rate, would be impossible, any how, except,” she added, “for what I’m carryin’, sir, blessed be God for it!”—­peering at me again with more knowing and triumphant look.

“Why that’s true,” said I, thoughtfully; and then, assuming a bit of the sacerdotal privilege, and suddenly raising my voice, though I was as innocent as the child unborn of her meaning,—­“that’s true; but now as you appear to be a sensible, pious woman, I hope you-understand the nature of what you are carrying—­and in a proper manner, too, for you know that’s the chief point.”

“Why, Father dear, I do my best, avourneen; an’ I ought of a sartinty to know it, bekase blessed Friar Hagan spent three dys instructin’ Mat and myself in it; an’ more betoken, that Mat sent him a sack o’ phaties, an’ a bag of oats for his trouble, not forgettin’ the goose he got from myself, the Micklemas afther.—­Arrah how long is that ago, Katty a-haygur?” said she, addressing her companion.