Anna wiped her spectacles and took Eliza over close to the window while she read a text of the Bible. "Listen, dear," Anna said, "God's arm is not shortened."
"Did ye think that an arm could be stretched from beyont th' clouds t' Pogue's entry?"
"Aye."
"No, dear, but God takes a han' where ever He can find it and jist diz what He likes wi' it. Sometimes He takes a bishop's and lays it on a child's head in benediction, then He takes the han' of a dochter t' relieve pain, th' han' of a mother t' guide her chile, an' sometimes He takes th' han' of an aul craither like me t' give a bit comfort to a neighbor. But they're all han's touch't be His Spirit, an' His Spirit is everywhere lukin' fur han's to use."
Eliza looked at her open-mouthed for a moment.
"Tell me, Anna," she said, as she put her hands on her shoulders, "was th' han' that bro't home trouts fur th' childther God's han' too?"
"Aye, 'deed it was."
"Oh, glory be t' God—thin I'm at pace—isn't it gran' t' think on—isn't it now?"
Eliza Conlon abruptly terminated the conversation by announcing that all was ready for the wake.
"Ah, but it's the purty corpse he is," she said, "—luks jist like life!" The three women went over to the Lecky home. It was a one-room place. The big bed stood in the corner. The corpse was "laid out" with the hands clasped.