Phelim’s face during this acknowledgment was, like Goldsmith’s Haunch of Venison, “a subject for painters to study.”  His eyes projected like a hare’s until nothing could be seen but the balls.  Even the drooping lid raised itself up, as if it were never to droop again.

“Well,” said the priest, “I shall certainly not use a single argument to prevent you.  Your choice, I must say, does you credit, particularly when it is remembered that you have come at least to years of discretion.  Indeed, many persons might affirm that you have gone beyond them; but I say nothing.  In the meantime your wishes must be complied with.  I will certainly call Phelim O’Toole and Bridget Doran on Sunday next; and one thing I know, that we shall have a very merry congregation.”

Phelim’s eyes turned upon the priest and the old woman alternately, with an air of bewilderment which, had the priest been a man of much observation, might have attracted his attention.

“Oh murdher alive, Mrs. Doran,” said Phelim, “how am I to do for clo’es?  Faith, I’d like to appear dacent in the thing, anyhow.”

“True,” said the priest.  “Have you made no provision for smoothing the externals of your admirer?  Is he to appear in this trim?”

“Bedad, sir,” said Phelim, “we never thought o’ that.  All the world knows, your Reverence, that I might carry my purse in my eye, an’ never feel a mote in it.  But the thruth is, sir, she was so lively on the subject—­in a kind of a pleasant, coaxin’ hurry of her own—­an’ indeed I was so myself, too.  Augh, Mrs. Doran!  Be gorra, sir, she put her comedher an me entirely, so she did.  Well, be my sowl, I’ll be the flower of a husband to her anyhow.  I hope your Reverence ’ll come to the christ’nin’?  But about the clo’es;—­bad luck saize the tack I have to put to my back, but what you see an me, if we wor to be married to-morrow.”

“Well, Phelim, aroon,” said Mrs. Doran, “his Reverence here has my little pences o’ money in his hands, an’ the best way is for you to get the price of a suit from him.  You must get clo’es, an’ good ones, too, Phelim, sooner nor any stop should be put to our marriage.”

“Augh, Mrs. Doran,” said Phelim, ogling her from the safe eye, with a tender suavity of manner that did honor to his heart; “be gorra, ma’am, you’ve played the puck entirely wid me.  Faith, I’m gettin’ fonder an’ fonder of her every minute, your Reverence.”

He set his eye, as he uttered this, so sweetly and significantly upon the old house-keeper, that the priest thought it a transgression of decorum in his presence.

“I think,” said he, “you had better keep your melting looks to yourself, Phelim.  Restrain your gallantry, if you please, at least until I withdraw.”

“Why, blood alive! sir, when people’s fond of one another, it’s hard to keep the love down.  Augh, Mrs. Doran!  Faith, you’ve rendhored my heart like a lump o’ tallow.”

“Follow me to the parlor,” said the priest, “and let me know, Bridget, what sum I am to give to this melting gallant of yours.”