perhaps. There is only one thing you people
value--the soul. The poor body may look after itself, and often gets
more kicks than ha'pence."

The priest smiled significantly.

"You flatter us," he said.

"Rubbish!" replied the doctor. "Why don't you look after yourself;
aren't you of more value than the people you are killing yourself for?"

Father Healy laughed, for he was a stout, rubicund man.

"I wonder whether you or I look the better nourished," he asked,
surveying the doctor's attenuated form.

"Some day you will drop down dead," replied the other.

"Death comes to all sooner or later," said his companion.

"Avoca" had at one time been a fine property; now over everything lay
the mark of decay. A broad drive, covered with grass and weed; the
remains of beds, where thistles and docks were destroying the flowers
and lawns, knee-deep in the over-growth.

"And mortgaged for more than its value," sighed the priest.

"Do you approve of this?" asked Dr. Marsh, with a comprehensive wave of
the hand.

"I do not. But better this than order and iniquity. I would like the
property neat, tidy and unencumbered, with a fortune in the bank for
Kathleen. But," Father Healy added with a sigh, "one can't have
everything exactly as he wishes."

"It is the fault of your system," growled the doctor; "you are too
strong on Eternity."

"I could not be too strong on that. But I always preach prudence and
thrift."

"Bah! The presbytery is a sanctuary for all the loafers in Grey Town."

"You had better discuss that with Molly. She is almsgiver at the
presbytery. But she tells me," the priest continued, with a twinkle in
his eye, "that she doles out the food and money prudently, and lectures
once a week on the virtues of total abstinence and hard work."

Even the doctor could not refrain from a dry chuckle at this aspect of
Molly Healy's almsgiving.

"Then the lectures are as fruitless as your sermons," he said. "If
Michael O'Connor had copied Joe Sheahan----."

"Ah, there you are! Didn't I teach Joe worldly prudence myself?" cried
the priest, hastily. "I am proud of Joe, a good honest man, for all his
money."

They drew up in front of the house, and Desmond came running down the
steps to take the doctor's horse. He was a big, bright-faced fellow,
though he still bore the marks of the recent sorrow in the black band on
his arm.

"Let me take the mare to the stable," he said.

Priest and doctor slowly descended fr