"As they drew near the graveyard, one Lanty Casey, an old flame of Katty's, tried to comfort her in his rough way.
"'Katty, avourneen, don't cry so, avillish. There's may be happiness for you yet, and there's them left that will love ye as well as him that's gone—if they'd be let.'
"Lanty was a noted lad at fair and pattern, but he got a box on the ear that made his head ring until the body was safely deposited in the grave.
"'Who are ye that talks love to a broken-hearted woman at the very grave? O, Matthew, Matthew, that I should live to see this day! Ochone, ochone! are you dead? are you dead?'
"On her way home to her solitary hearth, Katty saw ahead of her the hapless Lanty, and hastened to overtake him.
"'Lanty, avick," said she, sweetly, 'what were you saying there beyant, a while agone?'
"'What I'm not likely to say again. I'm not fond of such ansthers as ye gev me; an' if ye don't know when you're well off—'
"'There, there, Lanty, dear; I'm sorry for that same, but what wud the people say, an' my husband not berrid? But I mustn't be seen talkin' more wid you. I'll be alone to-night when the gossoon is asleep, and ye can dhrap in, and tell me what ye like, av ye plaze.'
"At about ten o'clock that night, the Rev. Patrick Mulcahy, while talking over the funeral, and the sad events which had led to it, was asked for by the young lad, Katty's brother.
"'Well, Andy, lad, what's wanting now? Is your sister feeling better, avick?'