“Pettier, will you keep your theology to yourself,” replied Father Ned, “and let us come to the plot without interruption.”
“Plot!” exclaimed Father Peter; “I'm sure it's no rebellion that there should be a plot in it, any way!”
“Tace,” said Father Ned—“tace, and that's Latin for a candle.”
“I deny that,” said the curate; “tace is the imperative mood from tacco, to keep silent. Tacco, taces, tacui, tacere, tacendi, tacendo tac—”
“Ned, go on with your story, and never mind that deep larning of his—he's almost cracked with it,” said the superior: “go on, and never mind him.”
“'Well,' says he, 'I'm still willing to marry you, particularly as you feel conthrition for what you were going to do.' So, with this, they all gother about her, and, as the officer was a fine fellow himself, prevailed upon her to let the marriage be performed, and they were accordingly spliced as fast as his Reverence could make them.
“'Now, Jack,' says the dog, 'I want to spake with you for a minute—it's a word for your own ear;' so up he stands on his two hind legs, and purtinded to be whisp'ring something to him; but what do you think?—he gives him the slightest touch on the lips with his paw, and that instant Jack remimbered the lady and everything that happened betune them.
“'Tell me, this instant,' says Jack, seizing him by the throat, 'where's the darling, at all, at all, or by this and by that you'll hang on the next tree!'
“Jack spoke finer nor this, to be sure, but as I can't give his tall English, the sorra one of me will bother myself striving to do it.
“'Behave yourself,' says the dog, 'just say nothing, only follow me.'