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'Didn't I say so?' sez ould Tim, who had a short timper.

Misther Bradley kem out, an' he sez,

'O, so you're Timothy Sullivan, that Father Mulcahy was tellin' me about. Come in here.'

Well, we wint round be th' back av th' glass cases into the purtiest little parlour yeh ivir laid yer two eyes on; an' thin Tim tould th' gintleman that he wanted t' put his hundhred an' twinty pounds in th' bank.

'We'll take th' hoighth av good care av it for yeh,' sez Misther Bradley, that was as pleasantspoken a gintleman as ye'd meet. 'An' yer quite right to take Father Mulcahy's advice, and t' put it in the Bank av Ireland.'

'I'll let yeh take care av it,' sez ould Tim, houldin' out th' sack av piatees, av ye'll just keep th' money the way I give it t' you.'

Misther Bradley stan's up an' looks acrass the table.

'Why, thin,' sez he, in a wondherin' voice, an' have yeh th' full av that sack av money, me good man? It must be all in coppers !'

Th' divil a copper!' sez ould Tim, quite smart. 'It's all in goold.'

'A sack av goold!' sez I. 'Why, Tim, shure it's piatees yeh have in that sack.'

'Now wimmin is too fond av talkin',' sez Tim. See here, sur;' an' he opens th' sack, an' there was nothin' t' be seen but piatees. 'Let's hear all about it,' sez Misther Bradley, an' throth I think I seen a laugh in his eyes. But who cud help it? For whin I tell yeh all, ye'll say it was no wondher, sir, that I couldn't help laughin' meself.

CHAPTER II.

'AY!' sez ould Tim Sullivan, lookin' at me, 'yeh may laugh av yeh like, me dacint girsha. But I wasn't goin' t' be such a fool as t' tell yeh what was in th' sack whin we war comin' down th' mountains. Who did I know might be listenin'?'

'Let us come t' business,' sez Misther Bradley. 'Where's the money you want to put into the bank?'

'Here, sir;' an' ould Tim takes up a fine piatee-a Scotch Downan' out av it he takes a sovereign.

'Well, that bates!' sez I.

'Bedad, Tim,' sez Misther Bradley, an' he thryin' t' keep down th' laughin', 'yeh have a way av yer own av keepin' yer money safe. That's not th' way th' Bank av Ireland keeps its money.'

'Well, sir, it's about that I want t' spake,' sez Tim. Yeh see, sir, there's a hundhered an' twinty goold sovereigns there in that sack, an' iviry wan av thim is hid sep'rate in a piatee. It's th' way I kep thim this many a year; an' whin th' piatees begins t' get bad, thin I change thim, and put the sovereigns into fresh piatees. Now, sir, I don't mind a bit lavin' th' money wid yeh, av ye'll keep it jist as it is, an' I'll come reg'lar an' keep an eye afther it meself, an' change th' piatees, not t' give yeh th' thrubble av doin' it.'

'Me good man,' sez Misther Bradley, yeh make a great mistake! Shure we cudn't take yer money in that way. Yeh must thrust the bank-shure yeh don't think th' Bank av Ireland 'ud rob yeh av it?'

Now see here, sir,' sez Tim Sullivan. 'I don't mane no offince in life; but yeh know, sir, that whin people has th' handlin' av money it offen sticks to their fingers.'

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'Look here, Sullivan,' Misther Bradley. Only I know it's ignorance makes you speak so, I'd be angry with you.'

'No, sir, I'm not as ignorant as yeh think,' sez Tim, an' I'll only lave me money wid yeh in th' way I say; so that I can come down any day an' see that it's not touched. An' I'll change th' piatees meself, not to give yeh th' thrubble, sir.'

Well, me jewil, shure there was great talk betchune ould Tim Sullivan an' Misther Bradley. Th' gintleman sed a lot that I didn't understand about intherest, whativir that is, an' it's me own opinion that Tim didn't undherstand it aither; an' th' long an' th' short av it all was, that Tim wouldn't lave the money in th' Bank av Ireland, onless he was let keep it safe in th' piatees, an' come an' look at it whiniver he liked.

'Go out, Mary,' sez Tim t' me, 'an' look afther th' car. We must be gettin' home afore nightfall.'

So out I wint, an' found th' horse stanin' quite quiet; an' there was Michael Neale at th' top av th' steps, an' shure I cudn't help tellin' him av th' foolishness av ould Tim Sullivan.

'Arrah no, Mary sez Michael; 'shure, yer not in airnest?'

'Bedad, I am,' sez I; 'an' shure here we're goin' home agin wid Tim's hundhered an' twinty sovereigns stuck in th' sack av piatees.'

'Throth, he's th' quare Tim,' sez Michael, 'Yez'll hardly be

home afore dark.'

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An' thin, shure, aff we wint again across th' mountain road. It was about a week afore Christmas, an' there was a little snow an' ice an th' roads that med it hard for th' baste. The crathur was tired too, so that it was dark night afore we kem t' th' pass av Creevagh, just a mile an' a half from me mother's.

'Tim,' sez I, I'm awful cowld.' 'It's a hard night,' sez he. An' so it was; it was freezin' fit t'kill any wan, an' th' stars was sparklin' up in th' sky.

'D'ye know, Tim,' sez I, 'I'm that cramped an' cowld here sittin' an th' car, that I think I'll get down an' walk th' rest av th' way home.'

'Jist as yeh like,' sez he.

'Come in an' have a cup av tay or a taste av whisky t' keep th' life in yeh, whin yer passin',' sez I. 'Thank yeh kindly, Mary; so I will,' sez he.

Well, off I wint, an', bedad, I soon got fine an' warm, whin all av a suddint I missed me footin' an th' ice, an' down I kem. Me hands was all scraped, an' a sharp stone ran right into me left hand.

Whin I got home I saw I was all bleedin', but I put a cobweb an' a bit av a rag an it, an' didn't mind it a bit.

Afther a while who comes up but Pat. I towld him all about what happened, an', shure, he was angry at first, an' thin he laughed. We got th' tay ready, an' some beautiful griddle-cakes an' fresh butther, an' we war waitin' for ould Tim Sullivan, for it was apast th' time for him t' come.

'I don't hear th' car,' sez Pat, goin' t' th' doore an' listenin', 'an' me uncle ought t' be here by this.' We waited another while, an' thin sez Pat,

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Throth, I dunno,' she sez; 'but shure he ought t' be here now.'

I don't know why it was, but I cudn't rest aisy afther me mother sayin' that; an' I cudn't take a mouthful av tay, or a bit av th' griddle-cake, but kep goin' backwards an' forrards t' th' doore. It was freezin' hard, an' there wasn't a breath av air, nor a sound anywhere; an' just as I was comin' away from th' doore wan time, I thought I heerd some wan runnin' up th' boreen.

I was right too. The steps kem nearer an' nearer, an' in a few minnits who comes runnin' up but Pat, an' ketchin' hoult av me he comes into th' kitchen.

For th' love o' God, what's th' matther?' sez me mother; an' I gev a schreech, for Pat's face was as white as th' snow outside, an' his eyes burnin' like two coals, an' there was blood on th' front av his shirt, an' on his hands, an' on the rest av his clothes.

'Pat! Pat darlint!' sez I, 'an' what's this for at all, at all?'

'Me uncle Tim,' he sez, in a hoarse soart av a voice-' he's kilt there beyant near th' Creevagh Pass, an' some wan ran away wid th' sack wid th' money in it.'

'Kilt!' sez me mother. Pat, what'll we do?'

'I'm goin' t' run over t' Paddy Closkey's, t' ask him an' th' boys t' come,' sez Pat, runnin' t'th' doore as he was spakin'; 'an' you, Mary, run aff for Father Mulcahy, an' he'll bring me poor uncle up here, Mrs. Rooney.'

Av coorse that was all settled, an' me mother got th' bed in th' room ready, an' Pat an' th' Closkeys, th' father an' th' three sons, wint aff t' th' Creevagh Pass for poor ould Tim, an' meself set aff t' th' chapel-house for Father Mulcahy.

'Now, me girl,' sez Father Mulcahy, as we war comin' along over th' mountain road, tell me all about this terrible affair.'

Shure, thin, sir, I towld his rivirence all about me goin' wid poor ould Tim t' th' bank, an' how he wouldn't lave th' money; an' thin about how I was so cowld on th' way home, an' got down an' walked th' rest av th' way; an' av how Pat kem in an' thin wint down t' th' Creevagh Pass, an' kem back t' say his uncle was there, kilt intirely.

'It's a bad business, Mary ma gra gal,' sez Father Mulcahy, an' just thin we kem t' th' doore.

There was poor ould Tim Sullivan lyin' an th' bed in th' room, jist as th' boys carried him up. Shure any wan cud see it was death was on his face. Father Mulcahy wint over an' tuk hould av his hand for a minnit, an' looked very sharp into his face, an' thin he turned away, an' sez he t' me mother quite nice an' solemn-like :

'Biddy Rooney, call in some av th' nabours, an' we'll say a mass for th' repose av his sowl.'

Thin we all knewn for sartin that poor ould Tim Sullivan was dead. He was th' awfullest sight, sir, yeh ivir seen. Shure his

head was reglar battered in wid

stones.

'Now, me good people,' sez Father Mulcahy afther mass, an' me mother an' me was sayin' our bades, this is a very sarious an' dhreadful affair, an' some wan av yer ought to go an' tell the polis at wanst.'

'I'm goin', yer rivirence,' sez Pat, as soon as I see yer rivirence home acrass the mountain.'

So aff Pat set, sir, an' in a few hours who comes but a whole lot av polis, an' a docther; an' some av th' polis stayed all night, and nivir lost sight av poor ould Tim, an' thin, as I suppose yeh know, sir, there was th' inquist th' next day.

Well, sir, at th' inquist they cud only find out that poor ould Tim was batthered t' death wid stones on the head, but th' cud say no more; so then Misther Reilly, the crowner, sed that Timothy Sullivan met wid his death athrough his head bein' batthered wid stones, an' want av further ividence.'

CHAPTER III.

BUT, sir dear, shure th' quarest part av the whole thing was that afther poor ould Tim Sullivan was dead, what d'ye think but in his poor withered hand, that for th' many's th' day cudn't hould a rush -it was that wake-well, in his hand was tight grasped a good big bit av some quare soart av gray cloth!

'It's wondherful t' think about,' sez Father Mulcahy, whin the docthor an' the crowner war talkin' about it.

'It was jist th' terror an' th' strength av the death-sthruggle that did it,' sez Docthor Crean;

he was in such a desperate way

that it even put life into th' withered hand.'

Well, sir, poor ould Tim Sullivan was waked in me mother's cabin, an' he had a grand funeral. All the nabours from far an' near kem t' it, an' Pat an' me thought it was very nice an' respectful av thim too. So whin we war comin' home me mother axed Pat t' come wid us an' t' have his tay. Th' poor boy was very down in himself. It wasn't bad enough to lose his uncle that was always good to him, as quare as he was; but, sir dear, it was terrible hard t' lose th' bit av money too, for nayther sight nor light av it cud we git.

Never mind, Pat,' sez I, thryin' t' comfort the poor boy; 'never mind, acushla! Shure wouldn't it be worse nor th' dirty money av we lost wan another? An' me face turned as red as a turkey-cock whin I sed such a bowld thing t' th' boy that was coortin' me; but it was jist me heart said it, I cudn't help meself.

'Yer right, Mary avourneen, yer right, acushla !' he sez. 'But this I'm detarmined on, Mary: I'll nivir rest antil I fix me poor uncle's Tim's murdther on some wan.'

Well, jist as Pat sed that, we heerd some thrampin', an' in walked some av th' polis. The sergeant walked over t' Pat, an' sez he,

'Pathrick Dionysius Cassidy, in the Queen's name I arrest you for being concerned in the murder of Timothy Sullivan.'

Pat jumped up; but before he cud say wan word, th' polisman had th' handcuffs on him.

I thought I'd have died wid th' shame an' th' fright, sir. I felt iviry dhrop av blood goin' back t me heart, an' me head wint intirely whin th' sergeant kem over t' me an' sed,

'Mary Josephine Rooney, in the Queen's name I arrest you for

being concerned in the murder of Timothy Sullivan.'

Me poor mother nearly wint mad, sir. But off we war tuk, an' that night we war lodged in Clonmel jail.

Och, weirasthru ! but it was th' cruel day for uz both! I cudn't hear anythin' about poor Pat, an' he cudn't hear anythin' about me. An' thin, sir, as I suppose yeh know, we war brought up for thrial one day, an' th' foolishest things yeh ivir heerd was sed about th' two av uz. Shure th' sed, sur, that bekase me hand was all bleedin'-an' shure yeh know it was from the fall I got that it was bekase I helped Pat-an' he as innocent as a baby, sir!-t' murdher poor ould Tim Sullivan that we might get th' money he had hid in th' sack av piatees !

I don't deny, sir, but that what all thim lawyer gintlemin sed was very like jist as av it cud all have happened. For shure enough there was blood an both Pat's clothes an' mine; but that was from his thryin' t' rise his uncle whin he found him lyin' kilt in th' snow at th' Creevagh Pass; an' an my clothes too from th' cuts an me hand. An' thin Misther Bradley sed I was wid poor ould Tim, an' knewn all about th' money in th' piatees, an' iviry wan knewn me an' Pat was goin' t be married; so all th' lawyers an' gintlemin put wan thing an' another together, an'och va shure I thought I'd ha' died whin I heerd it-me an' me poor Pat was aich give twinty year penal sarvitude.

There was jist wan thing I always feel glad about, sir, an' that is, that I got th' same punishment as me poor Pat. I cudn't bear t' think that he'd be sufferin' an' me free. But we both had wan thing that med us look forward t' th' long time whin we'd get out av prison, an' that was, that both

me an' Pat knewn it was all a mistake, an' that he cud thrust me, an' me him, jist th' same at th' ind av th' time.

So th' sorry weary months wint on, an' it seems that wan day Misther Barron av Barronstown was in th' polis-station. Misther Barron was a magisthrate in th' county, an' a nice free-spoken gintleman. An' it's he was th' quare funny gintleman too! Whin he was young he used t' be away in furrin' parts antil he kem into th' property whin his father died.

An' wan day he was in the polis-station, an' he was lookin' at some things that th' polis had hung up in their barrack-room; an' what d'ye think, but there was th' bit av curious gray cloth that was found tight in poor ould Tim Sullivan's hand th' very night he was murdhered. Misther Barron felt it, an' he looked at it very airnest.

Will yeh tell me,' sez he, 'where yeh got that?'

So thin th' sergeant tould him all about poor ould Tim, an' about Pat an' me; an', bedad, tould him th' whole story av th' thrial from beginnin' t' end.

'But, sir,' sez th' sergeant,' we nivir cud get any clue about that bit av cloth.'

6

'I can give you a clue,' sez Misther Barron. It's a piece tore out av a mornin' coat I had made from some stuff I brought wid me from th' aist.'

'Go on, sir,' sez th' sergeant; 'for, sir, we're not quite sure that we hit on th' right people whin we tuk up Mary Rooney an' Pat Cassidy; but yeh see, sir, we had t' do somethin' for th' credit av the force, an' we were able t' make out a very good case agin thim.'

'Stop!' sez Misther Barron; 'shure I rimimber it now. That coat, whin it was wore out, I gave to an old sarvint av mine.'

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