'Whisht,' says she, 'an' listen to that,' says she. 'In the name of the Blessed Vargin,' says she, 'what IS it?' says she. An' sure enough what was it but Bill Malowney that was dhroppin' asleep in the closet, an' snorin' like a church organ. 'Is it a pig,' says he, 'or is it a Christian?' 'Arra! listen to the tune iv it,' says she; 'sure a pig never done the like is that,' says she. 'Whatever it is,' says he, 'it's in the room wid us,' says he. 'The Lord be marciful to us!' says he. 'I tould you not to be cursin',' says she; 'bad luck to you,' says she, 'for an ommadhaun!' for she was a very religious woman in herself. 'Sure, he's buried in Spain,' says he; 'an' it is not for one little innocent expression,' says he, 'he'd be comin' all that a way to annoy the house,' says he. Well, while they war talkin', Bill turns in the way he was sleepin' into an aisier imposture; and as soon as he stopped snorin' ould Tim Donovan's courage riz agin, and says he: 'I'll go to the kitchen,' says he, 'an' light a rish,' says he. An' with that away wid him, an' the wife kep' workin' the beads all the time, an' before he kem back Bill was snorin' as loud as ever. 'Oh! bloody wars--I mane the blessed saints about us!--that deadly sound,' says he; 'it's going on as lively as ever,' says he. 'I'm as wake as a rag,' says his wife, says she, 'wid the fair anasiness,' says she. 'It's out iv the little closet it's comin,' says she. 'Say your prayers,' says he, 'an' hould your tongue,' says he, 'while I discoorse it,' says he. 'An' who are ye,' says he, 'in the name iv of all the holy saints?' says he, givin' the door a dab iv a crusheen that wakened Bill inside. 'I ax,' says he, 'who are you?' says he. Well, Bill did not rightly remember where in the world he was, but he pushed open the door, an' says he: 'Billy Malowney's my name,' says he, 'an' I'll thank ye to tell me a betther,' says he. Well, whin Tim Donovan heard that, an' actially seen that it was Bill himself that was in it, he had not strength enough to let a bawl out iv him, but he dhropt the candle out iv his hand, an' down wid himself on his back in the dark. Well, the wife let a screech you'd hear at the mill iv Killraghlin, an'-- 'Oh,' says she, 'the spirit has him, body an' bones!' says she. 'Oh, holy St. Bridget--oh, Mother iv Marcy--oh, Father O'Flaherty!' says she, screechin' murdher from out iv her bed. Well, Bill Malowney was not a minute remimberin' himself, an' so out wid him quite an' aisy, an' through the kitchen; bud in place iv the door iv the house, it's what he kem to the door iv Father O'Flaherty's little room, where he was jist wakenin' wid the noise iv the screechin' an' battherin'; an' bedad, Bill makes no more about it, but he jumps, wid one boult, clever an' clane into his raverance's bed. 'What do ye mane, you uncivilised bliggard?' says his raverance. 'Is that a venerable way,' says he, 'to approach your clargy?' says he.