the kindness of the priest's address. He came forward,
and taking his hand, said,

"What, Thady, are you ill? What ails you?"

"Not much, then, Father John; only a headache."

"Are you too bad, my boy, to take a turn with me? I've a word or two
I want to say; but if you're really sick, Thady, and are going to
bed, I'll come down early to-morrow morning. Would you sooner I did
so?"

Father John said this because he thought that Thady really looked
ill. And so he did; his face was yellow, his hair unbrushed, his eyes
sunken, and the expression of his countenance sad and painful; but he
was overcome by the kindness of the priest's manner, and replied,

"Oh no! I'm not going to bed. I believe, Father John, I did not come
up to you because I was ashamed to see you afther last night."

"So I thought, my boy; and that's why I came down. I'm not sorry for
your shame, though there was not much cause for it. If it was a usual
thing with you to be drinking too much, you wouldn't be thinking so
much of it yourself the next day."

"But I believe I said something to yourself, Father John."

"Something to me! Egad, I forget what you said to me, or whether you
said anything. Oh no! you weren't so bad as that; but you were going
to eat Ussher about something. But never mind that now; don't get
tipsy again, if you can help it, and that's all about it. It's not
the drinking I'm come to talk to you about; for you're no drunkard,
Thady; and indeed it's not as your priest I want to talk to you at
all, but as one friend to another. And now, my dear boy, will you
take what I've to say in good part?"

These gentle words were the first comfort that had reached Thady's
heart that day, and tears were in his eyes as he answered,

"Indeed I will, Father John, for you're the only friend I have now."

It was a fine moonlight evening, and they were on the road leading to
the Cottage.

"Walk up this way, Thady; we'll be less likely to be interrupted in
the little parlour than here;" and they walked on to the priest's
house, Father John discoursing the while on the brightness of the
moon and the beauty of the night, and Thady alternately thinking with
pleasure of his kindness, and with dread of the questions he was
about to be called upon to answer.

When they were in the parlour, and Thady had refused his host's
offers of punch, tea, or supper, and the door was close shut, Father
John at once struck into the subject at his heart.

"I t