“I dare say he is,” said Father Ned, in the sincere hospitality of his country; “at all events, take care of him, Nancy, he's a stranger, and get the best supper you can for him--he appears to be a truly respectable and well-bred man.” “I think,” said M'Kinley, with a comical grin, “you might know that by his high-flown manner of sleeping--he snores very politely, and like a gentleman, all out.” “Well done, Alick,” said the priest, laughing; “go home, boys, it's near bed-time; Paddy, ma bouchal, are the horses ready?” “They'll be at the door in a jiffy, your Reverence,” said Paddy going out. In the course of a few minutes, he returned, exclaiming, “Why, thin, is it thinkin' to venthur out sich a night as it's comin' on yer Reverences would be? and it plashin' as if it came out of methers! Sure the life would be dhrownded out of both of ye, and yees might colch a faver into the bargain.” “Sit down, gintlemen,” said Ned; “sit down, Father Ned, you and Father Pether--we'll have another tumbler; and, as it's my turn to tell a story, I'll give yez something, amuse yez,--the best I can, and, you all know, who can do more?” “Very right, Ned; but let us see”--replied father Ned, putting his head out of the door to ascertain what the night did; “come, pether, it's good to be on the safe side of any house in such a storm; we must only content ourselves until it gets fair. Now, Ned, go on with your story, and let it be as pleasant as possible.” “Never fear, your Reverence,” replied Ned--“here goes--and healths a-piece to begin with.” THE THREE TASKS.