"
The priest heard Lorison catch his breath painfully, and a faint smile
flickered across his own clean-cut mouth.
"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. 'Tis 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
gentleman I've brought to make ye a gr-r-and call. And ye resaves us
fast aslape in bed! Shame on yez manners!"
"Oh, Father Denny, is that you? I'm glad. And will you light the
lamp, please? It's on the table by the door. And quit talking like
Mother Geehan, Father Denny."
The priest lit the lamp, and Lorison saw a tiny, towsled-haired boy,
with a thin, delicate face, sitting up in a small bed in a corner.
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