"Aye, and I thank ye, ye'll see him doing his best after the new schoolmistress that's coming to us this evening. There's a great look-out, I can tell you, to see what kind she'll be. Indeed the last one wasn't much. Grand-looking whipsters, moryah! to be teaching the young idea. Indeed I wouldn't be at all surprised to see one of them going away from here sometime and she in the family way, although may God pardon me for alluding to the like and I standing in the presence of the makings of a priest!"
John Brennan felt himself blushing ever so slightly.
"And who d'ye think was in Garradrimna this evening? Why Ulick Shannon, and he a big man. Down to stop with his uncle Myles he is for a holiday. He wasn't here since he was a weeshy gosoon; for, what d'ye think, didn't his mother and father send him away to Dublin to be nursed soon after he was born and never seemed to care much about him afterwards; but they were the quare pair, and it was no good end that happened to themselves, for Henry Shannon and the girl he married, Grace Gogarty, both died within the one year. He in the full pride of his red life, and she while she was gallivanting about the country wearing mourning for him and looking for another husband that she never got before she went into the clay. Well, to make a long story short, Myles Shannon looked after the orphan, paying for his rearing and his education, and having him live as a gentleman in Dublin—until now he's a great-looking fellow entirely, and going on, I suppose, for Doctoring, or the Law, or some other profitable devilment like that. The Shannons were always an unlucky family, but maybe Ulick'll break the black curse, although I don't know, for he's the very spit and image of his father and able to take his drink like a good one, I can tell ye. This evening he came into McDermott's. There was no one there but meself, it being the high evening, so says he to me:
"'What'll ye have?'
"'Begad, Mr. Shannon,' says I, 'I'll have a pint. And more power to ye, sir!' says I, although I was grinning to meself all the time, for I couldn't help thinking that he was only the son of Henry Shannon, one of the commonest blackguards that ever disgraced this part of the country. You didn't know him, but your mother could tell you about him. You might swear your mother could tell you about him!"
John Brennan did not notice the light of merriment which overspread the face of Shamesy Golliher, for he was looking down towards the hush of the lake, and experiencing a certain feeling of annoyance that this young man should be becoming gradually introduced to him in this way. But Shamesy was still speaking:
"He stood me four pints and two glasses, and nothing would do him when he was going away but he should buy me a whole glass of whiskey. He's what you might call a gay fellow, I can tell you. And God save us! isn't it grand to be that way, even though you never earned it, and not have to be getting your drink like me be nice contriving among the small game of the fields?"
They parted in silence, Shamesy Golliher going eastward towards Garradrimna and John Brennan in the opposite direction and towards his mother's house. His mind had begun to slip into a condition of vacancy when an accident happened to turn it again in the direction of religion. As he came out upon the road he passed a group of children playing between two neighboring houses. The group was made up of the children of two families, the O'Briens and the Vaughans. It was said of Mrs. Vaughan that although she had been married by Father O'Keeffe, and went to Mass every second Sunday, she still clung to the religion into which she had been born. Now her eldest child, a pretty, fair-haired boy, was in the midst of the O'Briens' children. Their mother was what you might call a good woman, for, although she had the most slovenly house along the valley road, she went to Mass as often as Mrs. Brennan. They were making the innocent child repeat phrases out of their prayers and then laughing and mocking him because he could not properly pronounce the long words. They were trying to make him bless himself, but the hands of little Edward could not master the gestures of the formula, and they were jeering at him for his ill-success. When he seemed just upon the verge of tears they began to ask him questions in the answers to which he would seem to have been well trained aforetime, for he repeated them with glibness and enjoyment.
"What religion are ye?"
"I'm a little black Protestant."