But she was not sorry she had been delayed, for the
priest only wanted to get her money to mend the walls of the old
church, and she thought that her best plan would be to keep him
talking about Kate and Peter. He was going to America to-morrow or
the day after, and if she could keep her money till then it would
be safe.
His front door was open, he was leaning over the green paling that
divided his strip of garden from the road, and he looked very
cross indeed.
She began at once:--
"Sure, your reverence, there's terrible work going on in the
village, and I had to stop to listen to Mrs M'Shane. Kate
Kavanagh, that was, has gone to America, and she shut her door on
him last night, saying he was drunk."
"What's this you're telling me?"
"If your reverence will listen to me--"
"I'm always listening to you, Biddy M'Hale. Go on with your
story."
It was a long time before he fully understood what had happened,
but at last all the facts seemed clear, and he said:--
"I'm expecting Pat Connex."
Then his thoughts turned to the poor husband weeping in the
backyard, and he said:--
"I made up this marriage so that she might not go away with Pat
Connex."
"Well, we've been saved that," said Biddy.
"Ned Kavanagh's marriage was bad enough, but this is worse. It is
no marriage at all."
"Ah, your reverence, you musn't be taking it to heart. If the
marriage did not turn out right it was the drink."
"Ah, the drink--the drink," said the priest, and he declared that
the brewer and the distiller were the ruin of Ireland.
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