over all the graves, alike of
the high born and of the lowly, the weeds and nettles grow.

"Sure there's no saxton, Sorr," said car-man Jerry Magwire, in answer to a
question, "We dig the graves ourselves whin we put them away, an'
sometimes there's a fight in the place whin two berryin's meet. Why is
that? Faith, it's not for us to be talkin' o' them deep subjects widout
respict, but it's the belafe that the last wan berrid must be carryin'
wather all the time to the sowls in Purgathory till the next wan comes to
take the place av him. So, ye mind, when two berryin's happen to meet,
aitch party is shtrivin' to be done foorst, an' wan thries to make the
other lave aff, an' thin they have it. Troth, Irishmen are too handy wid
their fishts entirely, it's a weak pint wid 'em. But it's a sad sight, so
it is, to see the graves wid the nettles on thim an' the walls all
tumblin'. It isn't every owld church that has a caretaker like him of
Cashel. Bedad, he was betther nor a flock av goats to banish the weeds.

"Who was he? Faith, I niver saw him but the wan time, an' thin I had only
a shot at him as he was turnin' a corner, for it was as I was lavin'
Cormac's chapel the time I wint to Cashel on a pinance, bekase av a little
throuble on me mind along av a pig that wasn't mine, but got mixed wid
mine whin I was afther killin' it. But, as I obsarved, it was only a shot
at him I had, for it wasn't aften that he was seen in the daytime, but
done all his work in the night, an' it isn't me that 'ud be climbin' the
Rock av Cashel afther the sun 'ud go to slape. Not that there's avil
sper'ts there, for none that's bad can set fut on that holy ground day or
night, but I'm not afther wantin' to meet a sper't av any kind, even if
it's good, for how can ye tell about thim. Sure aven the blessed saints
have been desaved, an' it's not for a sinner like me to be settin' up for
to know more than thimselves. But it was the long, bent body that he had,
like he'd a burdhen on his back, as they say, God be good to him, he had
on his sowl, an' a thin, white face wid the hair an' beard hangin' about
it, an' the great, blue eyes lookin' out as if he was gazin' on the other
worruld. No, I didn't run down the rock, but I didn't walk aither, but
jist bechuxt the two, wid a sharp eye round the corners that I passed. No
more do I belave there was harrum in him, but, God's prisence be about us,
ye can't tell.

"He was a man o' Clare be the name av Paddy