Several of the party remarked, “that’s thrue,” and the publican felt that he had said the right thing. Danny Quin’s son here rose and went round the circle with the bottle. The attention was accepted with protests, or with groans that betokened indifference to all earthly affairs. Young Quin sat down again. He was not drunk, but he had been drinking and crying on and off for three days and nights, and his big limbs felt tremulous and his brain hot. “A nice, dacent little man as ever was in the barony,” said an old woman glibly; “the Lord have mercy on him, ’tis he got the death very sudden”--she crossed herself--“and very quare, the Lord save us.” “I undherstand,” said the publican, conscious of leading the conversation with ability, “that he sustained fatal injuries from a fall.” “Arrah, what fatal injuries!” returned the old woman with scorn; “no, but to break his neck was what he done. Didn’t he walk out over the brink o’ the big sandpit in Cashel the same as one that wouldn’t have the sighth, an’ he a fine soople man no more than seventy years? ’Twas like a reelin’ in the head the crayture got.” The tone was that of cautious supposition, and it was easy to discern the desire of contradiction. “’Twas no reeling,” said Tom Quin, suddenly addressing the company in a loud voice. “I know well what was on him, and so do thim that was lookin’ at him. ’Twas a start he took, the same as if he seen somethin’ followin’ him. And I hope in God I’ll be dead to-morrow if it isn’t thrue what I’m sayin’, that if he didn’t put his hand to the Park-na-Moddhera to sell it he’d be dhrinkin’ his glass in the fair of Letter Kyle this day.” His auditors exclaimed, groaned, and crossed themselves. All present, except the publican, knew every detail connected with Danny Quin’s death, but they knew even better what was due to the dramatic moments in a story. There was a stir in the kitchen outside, and Quin’s youngest daughter pushed her way into the room, crying and clapping her hands. “The priest is come--they’re closin’ the coffin on him--oh, dada, dada!” she wailed, and flung herself half-across the table without an effort at self-control.