Several other bystanders remembered it too, and expressed their sympathy by divers nods and groans; old Dan at last impatiently throwing out his hands for silence. "Whisht! whisht! we can't be sure whether himself's in it at all yet. Let the poor little girl be gettin' on wid the letther, can't yez? Sure maybe it isn't Larry at all." "Listen to the man, an' him the only nephew that ever we had," began "herself" shrilly; but Maggie's childish pipe, proceeding with the reading, drowned the rest of her remonstrance. "'I hope you are quite well, as this leaves me at present. You will be very much astonished to get this letter, but when we meet, as I trust we soon shall, I hope to have the pleasure of explainin' to you all that has befell me since I left yous an' my happy home to join her Majesty's corpse!'" "What's that?" cried Dan in alarm. "Corpse! Didn't I tell yez he was dead?" "Sure how could he be dead," put in Mrs. Brophy, "when it was himself that wrote the letther? There isn't anythin' about a corpse in it, Maggie asthore, is there?" "'C-o-r-p-s,' spelled out Maggie, "corpse; yes, there it is, as plain as print." "Sure he manes 'rig'ment,' "shouted out some well-informed person from the background. "'Corpse'--that's what they do be callin' the army." "Oh, that indeed?" resumed Dan, much relieved. "Go on, Maggie." "'I am now, however, at the end of my rovin's,'" read the child, "'an' you'll be glad to hear that I am just afther gettin' married to a very nice young lady, with a good bit o' money of her own. I have also contrived to save a tol'rable sum, an' am now lookin' forward to a life of contentment an' prosperity in the company of my bride.'" "That's Larry," exclaimed Mrs. Brophy with conviction. "That's himself--the very turn of him. He always had that fashion, ye know, of pickin' out them grand words. I could tell 'twas him the very minit she began, God bless him." "'My fond memory, however, turns to them that in the days of my childhood was the same as a father an' a mother to me. I made sure that yous must both be under the daisy-quilt, an' me first thought was to send some money to the reverend gentleman, whoever he may be, that's parish priest in Clonkeen now, an' ax him to put up a rale handsome monument over your remains; but by the greatest good fortune I came across poor Bill Kinsella not long sence, an' he tould me yous were to the fore, an' not a sign o' dyin' on yous yet.'" "Look at that now," cried Mrs. Kinsella, with shrill glee; "sure that's me own first cousin's son that went over beyant a couple of years ago. Well, now to think--" "Ah, for goodness' sake, let's hear the end of the letther," cried Dan and his wife together, both violently excited.