“Do you call that gratitude, my worthy friends? To lave me creeping over the ups and downs of this villanous road without company?” “Lay an, aroon,” said the father. “Let us get home. Oh, how your poor mother will die with joy, an' Susy, an' Nanny, an' Brian, an' Michael, an' Dick, an' Lanty, an' all o' them. Glory be to Heaven! what a meetin' we'll have! An' the nabors, too! Push an' avick machree.” “My curse upon you, Friar Hennessy!” exclaimed the priest, in a soliloquy, “it was you who first taught this four-footed snail to go like a thief to the gallows. I wish to Heaven you had palmed him on some one else, for many a dinner I have lost by him in my time. Is that your gratitude, gentlemen? Do I deserve this?” “What is he sayin'?” said the father. “He is declaiming about gratitude,” replied Denis. “Lay-an' her,” said the father. “Poor Mave!” “Such conduct does you credit,” shouted the priest. “It's just the way of the world. You have got what you wanted out of me, an' now you throw me off. However, go on.” “What's that?” said the father again. “He is desiring us to go on,' replied the son. “Then, in the name o' Goodness, do so, avourneen. Susy will die downright.” “Where am I to dine to-day?” shouted the priest, in a louder voice. “I say, where am I to come in for my dinner, for I'm not expected at home, and my curate dines out?” “I can't hear him,” said the father. “He says the curate dines out; an' he wants to know if he's to dine with us.” “Throth, an' he won't; not that we begrudge it to him; but for this day the sarra one we'll have but our own relations. Push an. An' Brian, too, poor fellow, that was always so proud of you!” They had now reached the top of an ascent on the road, whilst the priest toiled up after them. In a few minutes they began to descend, and consequently were out of his sight.