Now, Mrs. Doran began to have her suspicions. The wink she considered as decidedly ominous. Phelim, she concluded with all the sagacity of a woman thinking upon that subject, had winked at her to assent only for the purpose of getting themselves out of the scrape for the present. She feared that Phelim would be apt to break off the match, and take some opportunity, before Sunday should arrive, of preventing the priest from calling them. Her decision, however, was soon made. She resolved, if possible to pin down Phelim to his own proposal. “Is this true, Mrs. Doran?” inquired the priest, a second time. Mrs. Doran could not, with any regard to the delicacy of her sex, give an assent without proper emotion. She accordingly applied her apron to her eyes, and shed a few natural tears in reply to the affecting query of the pastor. Phelim, in the meantime, began to feel mystified. Whether Mrs. Doran's tears were a proof that she was disposed to take the matter seriously, or whether they were tears of shame and vexation for having been caught in the character of a romping old hoyden, he could not then exactly decide. He had, however, awful misgivings upon the subject. “Then,” said the priest, “it is to be understood that I'm to call you both on Sunday.” “There's no use in keepin' it back from you,” replied Mrs. Doran. “I know it's foolish of me; but we have all our failins, and to be fond of Phelim there, is mine. Your Reverence is to call us next Sunday, as Phelim tould you. I am sure I can't tell you how he deluded me at all, the desaver o' the world!” Phelim's face during this acknowledgment was, like Goldsmith's Haunch of Venison, “a subject for painters to study.” His eyes projected like a hare's until nothing could be seen but the balls. Even the drooping lid raised itself up, as if it were never to droop again. “Well,” said the priest, “I shall certainly not use a single argument to prevent you. Your choice, I must say, does you credit, particularly when it is remembered that you have come at least to years of discretion. Indeed, many persons might affirm that you have gone beyond them; but I say nothing. In the meantime your wishes must be complied with. I will certainly call Phelim O'Toole and Bridget Doran on Sunday next; and one thing I know, that we shall have a very merry congregation.” Phelim's eyes turned upon the priest and the old woman alternately, with an air of bewilderment which, had the priest been a man of much observation, might have attracted his attention. “Oh murdher alive, Mrs. Doran,” said Phelim, “how am I to do for clo'es? Faith, I'd like to appear dacent in the thing, anyhow.” “True,” said the priest. “Have you made no provision for smoothing the externals of your admirer? Is he to appear in this trim?”