ever died before."

This statement presented no difficulty to Mrs. Twomey, since she had
no desire to exult over Mr. Brien as being what is often called a
typical Irishman, and was able to accept its rather excessive emphasis
in the sense in which it was intended.

"I'm told Major Lowry is sick enough," went on John Brien; "an
impression like, on the heart, they tells me."

"He have enough to trouble him," said Mrs. Twomey, portentously; "and
I wouldn't wish it to him. A fine man he was. Ye'd stand in the road
to look at him! The highest gentleman of the day!"

"Well, that's true enough," said John Brien, cautiously. "There's some
says the servants in the house didn't get their hire this two years."

"Dirty little liars!" said Mrs. Twomey, warmly. "Divil mend them, and
their chat! There isn't one but has as many lies told as'd sicken an
ass! Wasn't I selling a score of eggs to the Docthor's wife a'
Saturday, and she askin' me this an' that, and 'wasn't it said young
Mr. Coppinger was to marry Miss Christhian Lowry'? Ah ha! She was dam'
sweet, but she didn't get--" Mrs. Twomey swiftly licked and exhibited
a grey and wrinkled finger--"_that_ much from me!"

"Ha, very good, faith!" said John Brien; "them women wants to know too
much!"

"And if they do itself," retorted Mrs. Twomey, instant in defence of
her sex, "isn't it to plase the min that's follyin' them for the news!
Yis! An' they too big fools to hear it for theirselves!"

John Brien, somewhat stupefied by this home thrust, made no reply, but
smote the donkey heavily, provoking it to a jog that temporarily
jolted conversation to death.

At the next incline, however, Mrs. Twomey took up her parable again.

"Tell me now awhile, John, what day is this th' election is?"

"I d'no if it isn't Choosday week it is," replied John Brien, without
interest. "There's two o' them up for it now. Young Coppinger, that
was the first in it, and a chap from T'prairy. What's this his name
is?--Burke, I think it is. Sure they had two meetin's after chapel at
Riverstown last Sunday. Roaring there they were out o' mothor-cars.
But it's little I regard them and their higs and thrigs!"

"Why wouldn't ye wote for Larry Coppinger, John?" said Mrs. Twomey,
persuasively "and him 'All-for-Ireland'! A strong, cocky young boy he
is too; greatly for composhing he is, an' painting, an' the like o'
that. Sure didn't I tell him it was what it was he had a rag on every
bush! 'Well,' says