“What an illigant ‘Gates Ajar’!” exclaimed Mrs. McGlory. “Is that the piece that the A. O. H. sent, Mary?” “It takes Kate Sweeney till make thim look daysint in the coffin,” remarked Mrs. Nolan. “What splindid flowers she have put under his head!” “Tell me, Mrs. Clancy,” whispered Bridget O’Hara; “who will walk wid Larry?” “Why, Mary, av corse.” “Divil a fear av her!” “Is she settin’ her cap for him, I dunno?” said Ellen. Mrs. Clancy turned to Mrs. McGonagle. “D’yez harken till the talk av thim two?” asked she. “God save uz,” answered Mrs. McGonagle, “they’ed talk about any wan. But, whist; is that not Mrs. Noonen’s black skirt, Casey’s wife have on?” “Av coorse. She borryed it yisterday; for scure till the stitch av black she have av her own.” “Is the Father Matt’oo comin’?” inquired Mrs. Nolan. “Is it the T. A. B. yez mean?” questioned Mrs. Contractor McGlory. “What ilce?” “Sure Larry wur not a mimber.” “D’yez tell me so! An’ did he take the sup av drink, thin? Begorry I’d niver a-t’ought it.” Mrs. Nolan blinked at the corpse with renewed interest. O’Connor came into the room with Larry and handed Mary a slip of paper. “Iv there’s any other names ye want down,” said he, “just say the word.” But Mary shook her head and returned it. Roddy Ferguson pushed his way into the room and drew his employer aside. “Callahan’s outside with the hearse,” said he in a whisper, “and if we want to catch the Solemn High Mass we’d better push t’ings.” The undertaker drew himself up to his full height and looked gravely about him; then in his deepest and most professional voice, he said: “The relatives an’ friends of the family will take a last farewell look at the departed before proceedin’ till the church.” Veils were dropped, gloves were put on, and a subdued sobbing and whispering began. All pushed forward anxious to see everything at this critical and interesting moment. Larry was moved but silent; Mary sobbed, quietly; Mrs. Kelly’s grief was stormy; but her husband and son regarded the body stolidly, then gave way to those behind. In a few moments the casket lid was screwed down and the six young men had borne it through the door to the waiting hearse. Young Ferguson took the list of names and stationed himself by the door. “Mr. Lawrence Murphy and Miss Mary Carroll,” called he. “Do she go afore me?” demanded Mrs. Kelly. “Mr. O’Connor is a black stranger till walk ahead av a sister av the corpse?” Kelly sneered. “Sure they have it all their own way, Honora,” said he. “Mr. James Kelly and wife,” called Ferguson. “Thanks be!” cried the angry lady. “I wur expectin’ till be left till the last!” and out she went on the arm of her husband, to treat the watching crowd to an energetic exhibition of sisterly grief. “Mr. Martin Kelly!” cried Roddy. He hesitated a moment, then added: “and Miss Bella Nolan.”