Old Denis, however, was too much engaged in the subject which lay nearest his heart to take pleasure in anything else; at least until he should hear the priest's opinion upon the posture of affairs.
“What does your reverence think?” said Denis.
“Behave yourself,” replied the pastor. “None of your nonsense! You know what I think as well as I do myself.”
“But will Dionnisis pass?—Will he go to Maynooth?”
“Will you go to your dinner to-day, or to your bed to-night?”
“God be praised! Well, Docthor, wait till we see him off, then I'll be spakin' to you!”
“No,” said the priest; “but wait till you tike a toss upon this sofa, and then you will get a taste of ecclesiastical luxury.”
“Ay,” said Denis, “but would it be right o' me to sit in it? Maybe it's consecrated.”
“Faith, you may swear that; but it is to the ease and comfort of his lordship! Come, man, sit down, till you see how you'll sink in it.”
“Oh, murdher!” exclaimed Denis, “where am I at all? Docthor dear, am I in sight? Do you see the crown o' my head, good or bad? Oh, may I never sin, but that's great state!—Well, to be sure!”