"Bad enough!" says the priest, "is there anything at all down from heaven to set that right?" says the priest.
"There's nothing but one thing alone," says he, "and this is it. When you go in to your mother tell her as I have told it to you. And unless she shall be prepared to suffer the death that I'll tell you, not a sight of the country of heaven will your mother or anyone of her family see for ever."
"What death is it?" said the priest to him.
"She must let you," says he, "carve every bit off her body as fine as sneeshin."
The priest went into the house and a heavy load on his heart. He sat upon a chair and there was a great grief to be seen in his face. His mother asked him what was on him, and what had happened to him since he went out.
"Ah, there's nothing on me but a little weariness," says he, "kindle the pipe for me mother," says he, "I'd like to get a blast of tobacco."
"I'll kindle it and welcome," says she, "I thought avourneen," says she, "that you were not using tobacco."
"Ah, maybe a whiff would take this weariness off me," said he.
True was the story. She put a coal in the pipe, and after smoking enough of the pipe herself she handed it to the priest, but she never said the prayer. And that was the reason the priest had told her to kindle the pipe, hoping that she would say the prayer, but she did not.