nything else.'

"'Many thanks to you, father, for that same; but the next time you'd
kill my fleas, just wait until they're in a _more dacent_ situation.'

"'Fleas are fleas, Mrs O'Rourke, and we must catch 'em when we can, and
how we can, and as we can, so no offence. A good night's rest to you,
Mrs O'Rourke--when do you mean to confess?'

"'I've an idea that I've too many fleas about me to confess to you just
now, Father M'Grath, and that's the truth on it. So a pleasant walk back
to you.'

"So you'll perceive, my son, that having got all the information from
Mrs O'Rourke, it's back I went to Ballyhinch, till I heard it whispered
that there were doings down at the old house at Ballycleuch. Off I set,
and went to the house itself, as priests always ought to be welcomed at
births, and marriages, and deaths, being, as you know, of great use on
such occasions--when who should open the door but Father O'Toole, the
biggest rapparee of a priest in the whole of Ireland. Didn't he steal a
horse, and only save his neck by benefit of clergy? and did he ever give
absolution to a young woman without making her sin over again? 'What may
be your pleasure here, Father M'Grath?' says he, holding the door with
his hand.

"'Only just to call and hear what's going on.'

"'For the matter of that,' says he, 'I'll just tell you that we're all
going on very well; but ar'n't you ashamed of yourself, Father M'Grath,
to come here to interfere with my flock, knowing that I confess the
house altogether?'

"'That's as may be,' says I; 'but I only wanted to know what the lady
had brought into the world.'

"'It's a _child_' says he.

"'Indeed!' says I; 'many thanks for the information; and pray what is it
that Mary Sullivan has brought into the world?'

"'That's a _child_ too,' says he; 'and now that you know all about it,
good evening to you, Father M'Grath.' And the ugly brute slammed the
door right in my face.

"'Who stole a horse?' cries I; but he didn't hear me--more's the pity.

"So you'll perceive, my dear boy, that I have found out something, at
all events, but not so much as I intended; for I'll prove to Father
O'Toole that he's no match for Father M'Grath. But what I find out must
be reserved for another letter, seeing that it's not possible to tell it
to you in this same. Praties look well, but somehow or another,
_clothes_ don't grow upon trees in ould Ireland; and one of your
half-quarterly bills, or a little prize-money,