“Well, then, Mistress Geehan,” said he, “I’ll just step upstairs and see the bit boy for a minute, and I’ll take this gentleman up with me.”
“He’s awake, thin,” said the woman. “I’ve just come down from sitting wid him the last hour, tilling him fine shtories of ould county Tyrone. ’T is a greedy gossoon it is, yer Riverence, for me shtories,”
“Small the doubt,” said Father Rogan. “There’s no rocking would put him to slape the quicker, I’m thinking.”
Amid the woman’s shrill protest against the retort, the two men ascended the steep stairway. The priest pushed open the door of a room near its top.
“Is that you, already, sister?” drawled a sweet, childish voice from the darkness.
“It’s only ould Father Denny come to see ye, darlin’, and a foine gintleman I’ve brought to make ye a gr-r-rand call. And ye
