When Father Con arrived, Phaddhy and Katty were instantly at the door to welcome him.

“Musha, cead millia failtha ghud (* A hundred thousand welcomes to you.) to our house, Father Con, avourneen!” says Katty, dropping him a low curtsey, and spreading her new, brown, quilted petticoat as far out on each side of her as it would go—­“musha, an’ it’s you that’s welcome from my heart out.”

“I thank you,” said honest Con, who, as he knew not her name, did not pretend to know it.

“Well, Father Con,” said Phaddhy, this is, the first time you have ever come to us this, way; but, plase God, it won’t be the last, I hope.”

“I hope not, Phaddhy,” said Father Con, who, notwithstanding his simplicity of character, loved a good dinner in the very core of his heart, “I hope not, indeed, Phaddhy.”  He then threw his eye about the premises, to see what point he might set his temper to during the remainder of the day; for it is right to inform our readers that a priest’s temper, at a station, generally rises or falls according to the prospect of his cheer.

Here, however, a little vista, or pantry, jutting out from the kitchen, and left ostentatiously open, presented him with a view which made his very nose curl with kindness.  What it contained we do not pretend to say, not having seen it ourselves; we judge, therefore, only by its effects upon his physiognomy.

“Why, Phaddhy,” he says, “this is a very fine house you’ve got over you;” throwing his eye again towards a wooden buttress which supported one of the rafters that was broken.

“Why then, your Reverence, it would not be a bad one,” Phaddhy replied, “if it had a new roof and new side-walls; and I intend to get both next summer, if God spares me till then.”

“Then, upon my word, if it had new side-walls, a new roof, and new gavels, too,” replied Father Con, “it would look certainly a great deal the better for it;—­and do you intend to to get them next summer, Paddy?”

“If God spares me, sir.”

“Are all these fine gorsoons yours, Phaddhy?”

“Why, so Katty says, your Reverence,” replied Phaddhy, with a good-natured laugh.

“Haven’t you got one of them for the church, Phaddhy?”

“Yes, your Reverence, there’s one of them that I hope will live to have the robes upon him Come over, Briney, and speak to Father Con.  He’s not very far in his Latin yet, sir but his master tells me that he hasn’t the likes of him in the school for brightness—­Briney, will you come over, I say; come over, sarrah, and spake to the gintleman, and him wants to shake hands wid you—­come up, man, what are you afeard of?—­sure Father Con’s not going to examine you now.”

“No, no, Briney,” said Father Con, “I’m not about to examine you at present.”

“He’s a little dashed, yer Reverence, be-kase he thought you war going to put him through some of his Latin,” said the father, bringing him up like a culprit to Father Con, who shook hands with him, and, after a few questions as to the books he read, and his progress, dismissed him.