he priest says, "it's only on one's death-bed
he sees things clearly."'

As Kearney groped his way through the darkened room, shocked at his own
creaking shoes, and painfully convinced that he was somehow deficient in
delicacy, a low, faint cough guided him to the sofa where Miss O'Shea lay.
'Is that Mathew Kearney?' said she feebly. 'I think I know his foot.'

'Yes indeed, bad luck to them for shoes. Wherever Davy Morris gets the
leather I don't know, but it's as loud as a barrel-organ.'

'Maybe they re cheap, Mathew. One puts up with many a thing for a little
cheapness.'

'That's the first shot!' muttered Kearney to himself, while he gave a
little cough to avoid reply.

'Father Luke has been telling me, Mathew, that before I go this long
journey I ought to take care to settle any little matter here that's on my
mind. "If there's anybody you bear an ill will to," says he; "if there's
any one has wronged you," says he, "told lies of you, or done you any
bodily harm, send for him," says he, "and let him hear your forgiveness
out of your own mouth. I'll take care afterwards," says Father Luke, "that
he'll have to settle the account with _me_; but _you_ mustn't mind that.
You must be able to tell St. Joseph that you come with a clean breast and a
good conscience ": and that's'--here she sighed heavily several times--'and
that's the reason I sent for you, Mathew Kearney!'

Poor Kearney sighed heavily over that category of misdoers with whom he
found himself classed, but he said nothing.

'I don't want to say anything harsh to you, Mathew, nor have I strength to
listen, if you'd try to defend yourself; time is short with me now, but
this I must say, if I'm here now sick and sore, and if the poor boy in the
other room is lying down with his fractured head, it is you, and you alone,
have the blame.'

'May the blessed Virgin give me patience!' muttered he, as he wrung his
hands despairingly.

'I hope she will; and give you more, Mathew Kearney. I hope she'll give you
a hearty repentance. I hope she'll teach you that the few days that remain
to you in this life are short enough for contrition--ay--contrition and
castigation.'

'Ain't I getting it now,' muttered he; but low as he spoke the words her
quick hearing had caught them.

'I hope you are; it is the last bit of friendship I can do you. You have
a hard, worldly, selfish nature, Mathew; you had it as a boy, and it grew
worse as you grew older. What many believe