"'There it is, then,' replied the other, 'and make your best of it. Come, Tom, there's no turnpikes to pay where you're going to; so on with your wrap-rascal,' pointing to the cotamore.
"But, sorrow wink was on Father Feaghan all the while. He examined the note, and not a letter was wanting. It was regular, as if the devil had been bound to an attorney—drawn on a three-shilling stamp,—and, as he turned it round and round, it crumpled like singed parchment.
"'You're dished,' ejaculated his reverence, looking over at Tom.
"'Murder! murder!' says he, as Hoofey held out his hand for the I.O.U.
"'Arrah!' says Father Paul, 'do ye keep your papers in a tinderbox?'
"'They're over dry, I allow,' replied the devil; 'but in my place it's hard to find a cool corner.'
"'We'll damp this one a little,' says the priest, slipping his hand fair and asy into a mug of holy-water, and splashing half a pint of it on Tummas a Brawdeen's note. 'Put that in yer pocket to balance yer pipe.'
"In a moment the devil changed colour. 'Bad luck attend ye night and day, for a circumventing villain!' says he.
"'Off with ye, you convicted ruffin!' roared Father Paul, making a flourishing †; and before Tom Braddigan had time to bless himself, Clooty went up the chimney in a flash of fire, leaving the room untenantable for a fortnight, from the sulphur; and Tummas a Brawdeen sung, for the remainder of his life, 'Wasn't that elegantly done?'"
"Nothing could be better," said I, as Red-head closed his story. "What a sensation the affair must have occasioned. 'Like angels' visits,' I presume, the old gentleman's are 'few and far between?'"