ns into her open ears.

And poor Sally became eloquent in return. And Father Roach dried his
eyes, although she could not see him behind the curtain, and called her
'my daughter,' and 'dear lady,' and tendered such comforts as his
housekeeping afforded. 'Had she bacon in the house?' or 'maybe she'd
like a fat fowl?' 'She could not eat?' 'Why then she could make elegant
broth of it, and dhrink it, an' he'd keep another fattenin' until Nutter
himself come back.'

'And then, my honey, you an' himself'll come down and dine wid ould
Father Austin; an' we'll have a grand evenin' of it entirely, laughin'
over the remimbrance iv these blackguard troubles, acuishla! Or maybe
you'd accept iv a couple o' bottles of claret or canaries? I see--you
don't want for wine.'

So there was just one more offer the honest fellow had to make, and he
opened with assurances 'twas only between himself an' her--an' not a
sowl on airth 'id ever hear a word about it--and he asked her pardon,
but he thought she might chance to want a guinea or two, just till
Nutter came back, and he brought a couple in his waistcoat pocket.

Poor Father Roach was hard-up just then. Indeed, the being hard-up was a
chronic affection with him. Two horses were not to be kept for nothing.
Nor for the same moderate figure was it possible to maintain an asylum
for unfortunates and outlaws--pleasant fellows enough, but endowed with
great appetites and an unquenchable taste for consolation in fluid
forms.

A clerical provision in Father Roach's day, and church, was not by any
means what we have seen it since. At all events he was not often
troubled with the possession of money, and when half-a-dozen good
weddings brought him in fifty or a hundred pounds, the holy man was
constrained forthwith to make distribution of his assets among a score
of sour, and sometimes dangerous tradespeople. I mention this in no
disparagement of Father Roach, quite the contrary. In making the tender
of his two guineas--which, however, Sally declined--the worthy cleric
was offering the widow's mite; not like some lucky dogs who might throw
away a thousand or two and be nothing the worse; and you may be sure the
poor fellow was very glad to find she did not want it.

'Rather hard measure, it strikes me,' said Dangerfield, in the club, 'to
put him in the _Hue-and-Cry_.'

But there he was, sure enough, 'Charles Nutter, Esq., formerly of the
Mills, near Knockmaroon, in the county of Dublin;' a