When Phelim arrived at the priest's house, he found none of the family up but the housekeeper. After bidding her good morrow, and being desired to sit down, he entered into conversation with the good woman, who felt anxious to know the scandal of the whole parish.
“Aren't you a son of Larry Toole's, young man?”
“I am, indeed, Mrs. Doran. I'm Phelim O'Toole, my mother says.”
“I hope you're comin' to spake to the priest about your duty.”
“Why, then, be gorra, I'm glad you axed me, so I am—for only you seen the pinance in my face, you'd never suppose sich a thing. I want to make my confishion to him, wid the help o' Goodness.”
“Is there any news goin', Phelim?”
“Divil a much, barrin' what you hard yourself, I suppose, about Frank Fogarty, that went mad yesterday, for risin' the meal on the poor, an' ate the ears off himself afore anybody could see him.”
“Vick na hoiah, Phelim; do you tell me so?”
“Why man o' Moses, is it possible you did not hear it, ma'am?”
“Oh, worra, man alive, not a syllable! Ate the ears off of himself! Phelim, acushla, see what it is to be hard an the poor!”