“Eh! Told what?”
“Why, you know that, what Mary said; you ain’t forgot about that? When she was dyin’, I mean.”
“Oh! No! But what’s he gotta do with that? That’s what I want to know; where’s his kick a-comin?”
“Me and him was engaged, ye know, an’ Pop made me write to him that me and you—”
“No!” Murphy fairly gasped as he caught her meaning. “Say, did youse do that?”
Rosie began to choke and sob.
“Oh, Larry, I couldn’t help it; they frightened me so; and I was willing to do anything.”
Larkin was looking from one to the other, puzzled, glowering and suspicious. Murphy turned to him.
“You’re right,” said he. “If ye t’ought I was doin’ that, I don’t blame youse for wantin’ to start t’ings my way. But, say, we kin fix this up to suit. Les’ go in here,” nodding to the open iron gate that led to the little burial ground behind the church. “We kin talk all we want and nobody’ll hear us.”
They walked about the tiny inclosure where lay the parish dead, under the rank tufts of grass and the weather-beaten stones; and there they told Jimmie of Mary’s request, and Rosie narrated the story of her father’s crafty handling of her to break one promise and keep the other.