The Purcell Papers III

THE PURCELL PAPERS • III

‘Oh,’ says she, ‘the spirit has him, body an’ bones!’ says she. ‘Oh, holy St. Bridget – oh, Mother iv Marcy – oh, Father O’Flaherty!’ says she, screechin’ murdher from out iv her bed.

Well, Bill Malowney was not a minute remimberin’ himself, an’ so out wid him quite an’ aisy, an’ through the kitchen; bud in place iv the door iv the house, it’s what he kem to the door iv Father O’Flaherty’s little room, where he was jist wakenin’ wid the noise iv the screechin’ an’ battherin’; an’ bedad, Bill makes no more about it, but he jumps, wid one boult, clever an’ clane into his raverance’s bed.

‘What do ye mane, you uncivilised bliggard?’ says his raverance. ‘Is that a venerable way,’ says he, ‘to approach your clargy?’ says he.

‘Hould your tongue,’ says Bill, ‘an’ I’ll do ye no harum,’ says he.

‘Who are you, ye scoundhrel iv the world?’ says his raverance.

‘Whisht!’ says he? ‘I’m Billy Malowney,’ says he.

‘You lie!’ says his raverance for he was frightened beyont all bearin’ – an’ he makes but one jump out iv the bed at the wrong side, where there was only jist a little place in the wall for a press, an’ his raverance could not as much as turn in it for the wealth iv kingdoms. ‘You lie,’ says he; ‘but for feared it’s the truth you’re tellin’,’ says he, ‘here’s at ye in the name iv all the blessed saints together!’ says he.

An’ wid that, my dear, he blazes away at him wid a Latin prayer iv the strongest description, an’, as he said himself afterwards, that was iv a nature that id dhrive the divil himself

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up the chimley like a puff iv tobacky smoke, wid his tail betune his legs.

‘Arra, what are ye sthrivin’ to say,’ says Bill; says he, ‘if ye don’t hould your tongue,’ says he, ‘wid your parly voo;’ says he, ‘it’s what I’ll put my thumb on your windpipe,’ says he, ‘an’ Billy Malowney never wint back iv his word yet,’ says he.

‘Thundher-an-owns,’ says his raverance, says he – seein’ the Latin took no infect on him, at all at all an’ screechin’ that you’d think he’d rise the thatch up iv the house wid the fair fright – ‘and thundher and blazes, boys, will none iv yes come here wid a candle, but lave your clargy to be choked by a spirit in the dark?’ says he.

Well, be this time the sarvint boys and the rest iv them wor up an’ half dressed, an’ in they all run, one on top iv another, wid pitchforks and spades, thinkin’ it was only what his raverence slep’ a dhrame iv the like, by means of the punch he was afther takin’ just before he rowl’d himself into the bed. But, begorra, whin they seen it was raly Bill Malowney himself that was in it, it was only who’d be foremost out agin, tumblin’ backways, one over another, and his raverence roarin’ an’ cursin’ them like mad for not waitin’ for him.

Well, my dear, it was betther than half an hour before Billy Malowney could explain to them all how it raly was himself, for begorra they were all iv them persuadin’ him that he was a spirit to that degree it’s a wondher he did not give in to it, if it was only to put a stop to the argiment.

Well, his raverence tould the ould people then, there was no use in sthrivin’ agin the will iv Providence an’ the vagaries iv love united; an’ whin they kem to undherstand to a sartinty

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