She's my mother-in-law, sir, and not my own mother, Or as welcome she'd be in this world as another." ("Oh, oh!" thought the Abbot, "the way's growing clearer! I feared I had strayed--but I find the game nearer.") "She would see then a priest? with her wish I'll comply; But alone it must be, for should you remain by, Any facts I would prove she would surely deny, Though of Mary's great abbey the Primate am I." "Well, if ever!" said Looney, with a wild kind of stare, As he bolted inside, crying, "Meg! quick--a chair! There's the Abbot of Mary's a-standing out there!" Now that Meg was not well might be very well seen, She'd been waking too late where she'd yesternight been, For her eyes were as red as a lobster fresh boiled, And her nose looked like beetroot in cooking when spoiled; So she ran in a corner, where safe she might hide From the flood of reproofs which she feared might betide. Then enter'd the Abbot, his eyes cast around, And snug in a corner the old lady found, While away on an errand had Looney been sent, To prevent his eaves-dropping--if such his intent. ("That shows skill," thought Ted, "but I yet shall defeat it, For Meg will hear all, and is sure to repeat it.") "She sleeps," said the priest, "and I don't like to wake her, But fear she won't rouse if I try not to make her; So as time flies fast I will make bold to shake her." "Fire! thieves!" cried the dame. "O, Meg, what are you arter? You wicked, ungrateful, neglectful, young darter! I was dreaming of dinner--oh, such a fine treat! Not of biled praties only, but roast and biled meat." "Hush, hush!" said the Abbot, "I've heard your sad story, And much I was grieved at, but felt sorry for ye." "Ay, ay," she exclaimed, "did yer spake of the child? It's nigh broke my heart, and will soon drive me wild. Though I don't wish to die, yet the dochters can't save, When there's grief and rheumatics a-digging my grave." "But the gold," said the Abbot, "I hope it's secure?" "Did yer spake? Just spake out, for I'm deaf, certain sure." "Down there?" said he louder, and pointed close by, "Yes, there, there," she answered, "the creature will lie, Dead drunk as a baste, while I'm forced to attend To the cooking and washing, or else a hand lend For to keep the house tidy, or else the clothes mend: Yet I get but half-fed, Whilst she's snoring in bed. I often have thought I had better be dead." "Just so," said the priest; "sure the woman's quite mad. Or else forgot all--oh, a spade that I had! I'd soon have a look if the gold were there still, And then set to work just to make out her will." While speaking, he spied 'neath the bed a small leg Without shoe or stocking, which proved to be Meg. "Oh, she's heard every word, then!" the Abbot exclaimed; "For the want of more caution I'm much to be blamed; They will search every spot, and the wealth I shall lose it. But the old dame can help it, and she may not choose it."