s time he was coming to his
raison.

'Ah!' says the wife, says she, 'Tim darlint, don't be cursin' them
that's dead an' buried,' says she.

'An' why would not I,' says he, 'if they desarve it?' says he.

'Whisht,' says she, 'an' listen to that,' says she. 'In the name of the
Blessed Vargin,' says she, 'what IS it?' says she.

An' sure enough what was it but Bill Malowney that was dhroppin' asleep
in the closet, an' snorin' like a church organ.

'Is it a pig,' says he, 'or is it a Christian?'

'Arra! listen to the tune iv it,' says she; 'sure a pig never done the
like is that,' says she.

'Whatever it is,' says he, 'it's in the room wid us,' says he. 'The Lord
be marciful to us!' says he.

'I tould you not to be cursin',' says she; 'bad luck to you,' says she,
'for an ommadhaun!' for she was a very religious woman in herself.

'Sure, he's buried in Spain,' says he; 'an' it is not for one little
innocent expression,' says he, 'he'd be comin' all that a way to annoy
the house,' says he.

Well, while they war talkin', Bill turns in the way he was sleepin'
into an aisier imposture; and as soon as he stopped snorin' ould Tim
Donovan's courage riz agin, and says he:

'I'll go to the kitchen,' says he, 'an' light a rish,' says he.

An' with that away wid him, an' the wife kep' workin' the beads all the
time, an' before he kem back Bill was snorin' as loud as ever.

'Oh! bloody wars--I mane the blessed saints about us!--that deadly
sound,' says he; 'it's going on as lively as ever,' says he.

'I'm as wake as a rag,' says his wife, says she, 'wid the fair
anasiness,' says she. 'It's out iv the little closet it's comin,' says
she.

'Say your prayers,' says he, 'an' hould your tongue,' says he, 'while
I discoorse it,' says he. 'An' who are ye,' says he, 'in the name iv of
all the holy saints?' says he, givin' the door a dab iv a crusheen that
wakened Bill inside. 'I ax,' says he, 'who are you?' says he.

Well, Bill did not rightly remember where in the world he was, but he
pushed open the door, an' says he:

'Billy Malowney's my name,' says he, 'an' I'll thank ye to tell me a
betther,' says he.

Well, whin Tim Donovan heard that, an' actially seen that it was Bill
himself that was in it, he had not strength enough to let a bawl out iv
him, but he dhropt the candle out iv his hand, an' down wid himself on
his back in the dark.

Well, the wife let a screech you'd hear at the mill iv Killraghlin,
an'--

'Oh,