“Not in the least, Phaddhy, considering that it was a first station; and if the dinner goes as well off as the breakfast, they’ll be biting their nails:  but I should not wish myself that they would have it in their power to sneer or throw any slur over you about it.—­Go along, Dolan,” exclaimed his Reverence to a countryman who came in from the street, where those stood who were for confession, to see if he had gone to his room—­“Go along, you vagrant, don’t you see I’m not gone to the tribunal yet?—­But it’s no matter about that, Phaddhy, it’s of other things you ought to think:  when were you at your duty?”

“This morning, sir,” replied the other—­“but I’d have them to understand, that had the presumption to use my name in any such manner, that I know when and where to be dacent with any mother’s son of Parrah More’s faction; and that I’ll be afther whispering to them some of these fine mornings, plase goodness.”

“Well, well, Phaddhy, don’t put yourself in a passion about it, particularly so soon after having been at confession—­it’s not right—­I told them myself, that we’d have a leg of mutton and a bottle of wine at all events for it was what they had; but that’s not worth talking about—­when were you with the priest before Phaddhy?”

“If I wasn’t able, it would be another thing, but as long as I’m able, I’ll let them know that I’ve the spirit”—­said Phaddhy, smarting under the implication of niggardliness—­“when was I at confession before, Father Philemy?  Why, then, dear forgive me, not these five years;—­and I’d surely be the first of the family that would show a mane spirit, or a want of hospitality.”

“A leg of mutton is a good dish, and a bottle of wine is fit for the first man in the land!” observed his Reverence; “five years!—­why, is it possible you stayed away so long, Phaddhy! how could you expect to prosper with five years’ burden of sin upon your conscience—­what would it cost you—?”

“Indeed, myselfs no judge, your Reverence, as to that; but, cost what it will, I’ll get both.”

“I say, Phaddhy, what trouble would it cost you to come to your duty twice a year at the very least; and, indeed, I would advise you to become a monthly communicant.  Parrah More was speaking of it as to himself, and you ought to go—­”

“And I will go and bring Parrah More here to his dinner, this very day, if it was only to let him see with his own eyes—­”

“You ought to go once a month, if it was only to set an example to your children, and to show the neighbors how a man of substance and respectability, and the head of a family, ought to carry himself.”

“Where is the best wine got, your Reverence?”

“Alick M’Loughlin, my nephew, I believe, keeps the best wine and spirits in Ballyslantha.—­You ought also, Phaddy, to get a scapular, and become a scapularian; I wish your brother had thought of that, and he wouldn’t have died in so hardened a state, nor neglected to make a provision for the benefit of his soul, as he did.”