"And so do I," rejoined the priest with a smile.
"Welcome! Welcome! Father," said Mr. Howard, who appeared at the door carrying a lighted candle.
"I am returning from a long sick-call," said the priest; "have been riding all day, without having anything to eat. During the last two weeks I have had three sick-calls of over sixty miles each."
"You must be tired indeed," said the kind farmer in a sympathetic way. "Sit down near this bright fire, Father. Bertha will soon have a warm supper ready."
"She will have to hurry," said the priest, "for it is past eleven. I'll take a short rest of two hours, and then be on my way again in time to say Mass."
Father Byrne had scarcely taken his seat when Bounce gave a second alarm.
Again Bertha ran from the house toward the yard-gate, exclaiming: "Owen! Owen! did you win, Owen?"
"Good evening," answered a strange voice.
"Where is he? Did he not come?"
"Your brother Owen will probably not be home to-night."