the disposition of his property, Mr. Polymathers
grew so much worse that Dan and Nicholas ran off for the Doctor and the
Priest, and before their arrival could possibly be expected, it became
evident that he could not wait to receive them. Bridget O'Beirne,
deploring the hap by his bed in the small room off the kitchen, thought
a few minutes before he went that she heard him murmuring something
coherent, and she called to little Rosy Corcoran, "Child alive--me
head's bothered--come in here and listen, can you make out at all what
he's sayin'?"

Rosy came reluctantly and listened. "I think," she whispered, "it's some
sort of prayers like what his Riverence sez."

"Ah, then, glory be to God for that itself," said Bridget, "there might
be a good chance for him after all."

But she had been misinformed. The words Mr. Polymathers was muttering
over and over to himself were: _Admitto te--admitto te_.

CHAPTER VIII

HONORIS CAUSA

The evening of the day after Mr. Polymathers died was a very wild
black-and-white one out of doors all round Lisconnel, yet,
notwithstanding the flakes in the air and under foot, the O'Beirnes had
received some company. Not at a wake, however the purpose of their
assembly was to discuss a serious business matter, upon which old Felix
O'Beirne wished for friendly counsel. Hence his contemporary, old Paddy
Ryan, had prodded little round craters in the snow with his thick stick
all along the good step of bleak road which lay between his house and
the forge, and with him had come on the same errand Terence Kilfoyle,
who, although of so much junior standing, was esteemed as a man of
notably shrewd sense and judgment. But then neither he nor the
neighbours knew how often he took and gave Bessie Kilfoyle's advice.
These two were present by express invitation, but another pair of
guests, the Dooleys, would never have been asked for the sake of their
opinion, which they were indeed encouraged to keep to themselves, and
appeared at this domestic crisis merely by virtue of family ties. Old
Felix had always thought little of his daughter Maggie's mental powers,
and less ever since her marriage with Peter Dooley, who kept a shop in
the Town, and could be described as "an ould gombeen man," if one wished
to regard him from an unfavourable point of view, which his
father-in-law not uncommonly did. He had been heard to say of Peter that
"the chap was that smooth-spoken you might think he was after sw