When they got to Father Ryan's house they went straight into the parlour. "Mick," said Father Ryan, sitting down in his chair, "what ails you, child, this long time back?" Mick looked into his face. "It's all right," said Father Ryan; "you can tell me nothing I don't know. I had a letter from him this morning, poor boy."
"Is he all right?" said Mick.
"He's all right; that's what I wanted to tell you. But yourself, Mick, what ails you?"
"There's nothin' ails me," said Mick; "I've just got ould."
"Whist, boy, at your time of life," said Father Ryan.
"What did he do it for?" said Mike sharply. "Ye've seen her, Father; it's made her go mad." He began to cry.
"There, there, child," said Father Ryan. "It's more than you or me can say what it was done for. A better boy than Pat never lived, but the father had a bad hold on him."
"I sometimes think I done it myself," said Mick.
"You did it?" said Father Ryan. "Faith, child, you did a thing God Himself would have done."
When Mick said good-bye to Father Ryan about half-an-hour later, and was starting out, with the pigeon buttoned up inside his coat, he found Jane sitting on a stone at the presbytery gate waiting for him.