“True enough, and to my own knowledge, long before that event.”
“Dear me,” exclaimed Mave, “he was a holy man afther all!”
“Undoubtedly he was,” said the priest; “there are spots in the sun, Mrs. O'Shaugh-nessy—we are not all immaculate. There never was one sent into this world without less or more sin upon them. Even the saints themselves had venial touches about them, but nothing to signify.”
“Docthor,” said the uncle, pertinaciously adhering to the original question, “you have an opportunity of knowin' what a good parish might be worth to a smart, active priest? For the sake of a son of mine that I've some notion of—”
“By the by, I wonder Denis is not here before now,” exclaimed his Reverence, lending a deaf ear to Mike O'Shaughnessy's interrogatory.
Old Denis's favorite topic had been started, and he accordingly launched out upon it with all the delight and ardor of a fond father.
“Now, Docthor dear, before us all—an' sure you know as well as I do, that we're all friends together—what's your downright opinion of Denis? Is he as bright as you tould me the other mornin' he was?”
“Really, Denis O'Shaughnessy,” replied his Reverence, “it's not pleasant to me to be pressed so often to eulogize a young gintleman of whose talents I have so frequently expressed my opinion. Is not once sufficient for me to say what I've said concerning him? But, as we are all present, I now say and declare, that my opinion of Denis O'Shaughnessy, jun., is decidedly peculiar—decidedly.
“Come, girsha, keep basting the mutton, and never heed my boots—turn it about and baste the back of it better.”
“God be thanked,” exclaimed the delighted father, “sure it's comfort to hear that, any how—afther all the pains and throuble we've taken wid him, to know it's not lost. Why, that boy was so smart, Docthor, that, may I never sin, when he went first to the Latin, but—an' this no lie, for I have it from his own lips—when he'd look upon his task two or three times over night, he'd waken wid every word of it, pat off the book the next mornin'. And how do you think he got it? Why, the crathur, you see, used to dhrame that he was readin' it off, and so he used to get it that way in his sleep!”